


Cry Wolf

by Yoru_The_Rogue



Series: DC Yoru'verse TB AU: A Dark Crucible [1]
Category: The Batman (Cartoon)
Genre: AU shit, Canon-Blending, F/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, OCxOC - Freeform, Older Work, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Personal Headcanon 'Verse, Prequel, The DC Yoru-Verse, To Be Edited, heavy use of OCs, paraquel, reviews not needed, some OCxCanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-29
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2019-06-19 21:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 73,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15518604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoru_The_Rogue/pseuds/Yoru_The_Rogue
Summary: Jeanette Harker is a young librarian who just wants a simple life in Gotham. Lance Pendragon is a business rival of Bruce Wayne's with a dark, secret past. But after Jeanette's chance encounter with Joker, the two wind up on a spiraling train of events that threatens to take away their normal lives forever. [[WARNING! Contains: altering 1st person narratives, OCs, etc. Important additional notes inside with first chapter.]]





	1. Just Another Day?

**Author's Note:**

> Older work, written when I was a LOT younger, as self-indulgence for me and a few friends. I'm not totally happy with it, so it's likely this will see a lot of edits and possible chapter rewrites in the future. Focuses mainly on my two OCs, Jeanette Harker and Lance Pendragon, and the budding romance [read: InstaLove trope because this was my first attempt at writing romance outright and I was awkward af with it] between them, so the first person POV narration will often jump primarily between their perspectives. [[Though "Cry Wolf" technically begins as the prequel to the events of my other main "The Batman" fanfiction, "Twisted Souls", the events in both fanfictions will eventually catch up to each other, and then "Cry Wolf" will tell one side of the story, while "Twisted Souls" will tell the other. Yaaaay, paraquels.]] Liberal use of headcanons and canon-blending, OCs (both mine and my friends',) OCxOC and some OCxCanon.

[Jeanette's POV:]

How many people do you know have alarm clocks that play the theme from Happy Days when they're set to go off?  Well, if you didn't know any before, the count just totaled 1.  And trust me, nothing wakes you up in the morning quite like a rousing chorus going "We'll make you hap-pyyy…"  The only reason I've kept the clock is because it works and at least it wakes me up with the expectation that every day can be a good one.  
So when a bad day comes along, I just have to resist the urge to take a sledgehammer to that stupid clock.

I'd been in the middle of a really odd dream that I couldn't quite remember when it started to play again, and I woke up, rubbing my eyes tiredly before fumbling around to find the 'off' switch.  My hand found my glasses instead, and I hurriedly shoved them onto my face, the world coming into focus as I finally turned the clock off.

O blessed silence!  Thou art the Happy Days timepiece own happy dagger!

I pushed myself out of bed and swayed on my feet a bit, trying to remember what day it was.  Friday…or was it Saturday?  It was Saturday, I decided.  The library opens earlier on a Saturday, meaning I have to be there by 9:30 to help set up before the patrons come in.  I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen to prepare my breakfast, noticing three unheard messages on my voicemail machine.  I pressed play and shuffled to the fridge, pulling out a carton of skim milk.

_"Jeanette?"_ my mother's voice came from the speakerphone first, _"It's your mother.  Listen dear, I was just calling to check up on you, see how you're doing.  You hardly ever call me any more and I get so worried, what with you being holed up in Gotham City.  I just saw the news recently and it was featuring something about that wretched Penguin attacking the west side.  That's not too far from where you live, isn't it?"_  
  
It's on the opposite end of the city, mother.  I decided to heck with it and just took a drink from the carton.  No one else I know who even bothers to come visit drinks skim milk anyway.

_"Anyway, give me a call back soon, honey.  I miss you."_  
  
Yeah, right.

The first message ended and the second started up.

_"Miss Harker?  This is Sky Reichied, from Blockbuster Video."_  
  
He sounded a little uncertain, like he wasn't sure where he worked, but my heart skipped a beat anyway.  The really cute Cherokee employee from Blockbuster?  What was he calling me for?

_"I just noticed that you've got an overdue video that needs to be returned.  I believe it says here…"_ There was a pause and I heard the sound of a keyboard being consulted, _"It's a DVD copy of 'Gosfield Park'?  Anyhow, if you would just return that to us as soon as possible, it would be most appreciated.  Thank you!"_  
  
Oh, it figures!  Even now it's still Michelle who gets all the masculine attention, not me.

Not that one has any bitter feelings still left to smolder.

The third message began.

_"Hey Jeanette?  It's Heidi, and I need you to do me a really really big favor!  I know you're probably sick of the library and all that—ha ha, I know I am!—but I need you to pick up my Monday shift, if that's okay."_  
  
Heidi, you may be my friend, but honestly, someone who doesn't like working at the library?  I'm not sure how we became friends in the first place.

_"You'll do it, right?"_  
  
But of course!

_"Oh, please say you will!  Give me a call on my cell phone to let me know!  Sorry, and thanks!"_  
  
The machine beeped and set to work erasing all the messages as I poured the milk into a bowl of Cheerios and dug in.  My mother still disapproves of my eating habits, but she's not here, so she can't complain.  I walked over to the mini-whiteboard on the side of my fridge, uncapped the dry erase marker, and made a note of what I had to do.  Return the DVD to Blockbuster and pick up Heidi's Monday shift.

I do NOT consider calling my mother a mandatory thing, so it doesn't get written down EVER.

I finished off my Cheerios with less enthusiasm than you see in the commercials, dumped the dishes in my sink, and raced back upstairs to get ready.  I didn't get a shower, since I took them at night, so all I really needed was to put up my hair, get dressed, and put on a light layer of make-up.  I don't care for the latter at all, but a little foundation, blush, and eyeshadow never hurt anyone, and it didn't make me Michelle.  God knows I always hated how she would slather make-up on as we were growing up.  It looked like she was attempting to paint herself with colored mud, but somehow she was considered 'gorgeous' in high school.  Even to this day, it STILL makes no sense in my mind.  But hey, that's high school.

I selected pastels—it just seemed like a pastel day—a light green skirt and overshirt, with a longer-sleeved, thin pink shirt for underneath.  And it was early summer, so I could get away with wearing my favorite pair of sandals to work.  My favorite pair of turquoise earrings?  A must!

"Miss Harker, I daresay I find you remarkably attractive this fine day!" I laughed at myself in the mirror as I pulled my hair up into a ponytail.

That there?  Just me daydreaming.  No guy in his right mind would go for a four-eyed, Shakespeare and Austen-quoting, pottery and cooking-obsessed bibliomaniac who worked as a children's librarian.

But hey, a girl can dream, can't she?

A vase reflected in my mirror caught my attention and I turned to look at it, smiling with pride.  It was one of my first vases I sculpted when I entered my program for my Associate's in pottery, and I loved it so.  I'd painted a scene from my favorite fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast, on its side, and I kept it in my bathroom just to remind me that some day, maybe some day, I'd find someone for me.

But more likely than not, I would just end up selling this vase before too long.  I'd sold a lot of my other pieces so far.  Sooner or later I would just have to give up this nonsense.

For the time being though, I could allow myself to dream.

I gave the vase one last smile and left the bathroom, pulling my sandals on and digging for my purse in the mess of books that's always cluttering up the mythical floor my bedroom supposedly has.  Generally I've kept my townhouse spotless, but I never seem to be able to get the books back on their shelves in my own abode.  I think my coworkers would have kittens about it if they ever decided to drop in on me.

Finally I located my purse and my keys and dashed from my townhouse, locking up on my way out to my car.  It's a little sky-blue Dodge Neon and I absolutely love it.  I'd been driving an old Chevy Camero until one of my neighbors offered to sell the Neon to me for three thousand.  It was a pretty penny, but I've almost got her paid off (thank God for older women who don't mind if I pay in installments.)  The Neon purred like a cat when I started her up and pulled out, heading to the library.

I was halfway there when I got a call on my cell phone from Marcia, who pleaded with me to pick up some coffee.  There's a Starbucks on the way to work, and if my coworkers manage to catch me before I drive by it, I usually get bullied into stopping there before I come in.  I don't mind too much though, because they pay me back when I get to work, but I try to avoid making that stop if I'm able.

"Oh, come on, Jay, please!" Marcia pleaded, "Chantelle's in one of her moods this morning, you've just GOT to pick up some coffee!"

"Marcia, sweetie," I chuckled dryly, "Have you ever tried just suggesting that Chantelle bring in her own coffee-maker one of these days?"

"Have _you_?" she shot back.

Chantelle's our supervisor, and the way she runs the place, you'd think we were all seamen and the library was our Navy ship.  You have to get used to Chantelle before you can learn to tell apart her moods, of which there are ever only three: amused, bored, or pissed off.  And trust me, it takes a while to work out which is which.  But when Chantelle is pissed, the best way to placate her is with a mocha frapp.

I should know.  I've had to pick them up for her plenty of times.

Which is why the second I walked into the Starbucks, the guy at the counter waved at me.

"Hey, hey, Jeanette!" he called.  "Nice to see you again!"

"Hey, Bradley!" I called back with a smile, and he grinned around his lip piercing.  Bradley was not my type—he still looks like he's not graduated from his Hot Topic-going, pierced and tattooed punk phase—but he's a nice enough guy once you get to know him, and really friendly.

Plus he knows my order front to back and in reversed mirror image.

"Three mocha frapps, a venti doubleshot with mint, and a Chai latte with extra foam?" he asked sweetly, raising a pierced eyebrow at me.

"You've got it, Brad!" I chuckled, digging through my purse.

"Comin' right up!" he said enthusiastically, grabbing an assortment of cups from underneath his side of the counter.  I fumbled in my purse a moment, trying to find my debit card as Bradley spoke with another customer.  I love my purse and all, but sometimes the blasted thing is like a miniature Bermuda Triangle I just carry on my person.  Finally, I found the card I needed and held it out, only to have Bradley wave me off.

"I uh…I'm not sure how to tell you this, Jeanette," he said with a weak chuckle, and pointed toward the door, "But, uh…he just paid for your order."

I spun around, and saw a figure disappearing out the door, a tall man with long hair slicked back on his head, wearing a very expensive looking Italian suit.

"Oh, no!" I gasped in horror, running.  I don't accept free handouts, ever, and I couldn't just let him—

"You're not going to make it, you know." Brad remarked. "He's too fast."

I threw the door open anyway, but to my astonishment, he was right: the man had disappeared like a phantasm.

"How dare he…the nerve of that man!" I spluttered in anger.

"That's just what he does." Bradley remarked.

"Brad, you know that person?" I asked, rounding on him.

"Hey, chill hon!  I don't _know him_ know him.  He's an infrequent regular, so I don't even know his name, and he always gets something different…But he said to tell you if you had any objections that he thought you were, um…" he snickered and blushed, " 'A beautiful desert rose in an otherwise colorless and disheartening urban wasteland.'"

"You're kidding me, right?" I scoffed at him.  No man would _ever_ say that about me.

"You could have just yelled 'thank you' and he might have turned around, you know." Bradley said simply, and I fell silent.  Why hadn't I just been able to accept that?

Simple. Because Jeanette Marie Harker refuses to be treated like a begging homeless wench!

Mind you, my coworkers laughed at me when I told them.

"Why can't you just accept that someone did something nice and thoughtful for you and move on?" Leslie laughed.  Leslie's a sweet girl, and her round cheeks are always pink and smiling, just on the verge of a giggle.

"Because!" I answered in a somewhat shrill voice, "It's just not right!"

"But it was a nice gesture!" Marcia protested, "Not a lot of people do nice things like that these days!"

"He still could have hung around for me to thank him!" I muttered.

"You mean, for you to nag him and talk him out of doing it," Heidi scoffed at me, "Please, Jeanette!  Don't be such a prude!"

"I'm not a prude!" I protested, feeling my cheeks go pink as I sipped at my frappucino.

"If you are all quite done gossiping?" came Chantelle's cold voice, and I nearly jumped.  I looked up at her, forbidding as ever with her high blonde bun and hawk-like eyes and swallowed.  Even with her frappucino, she was still testy today.  We all went silent as the grave as we looked up at her, feeling rather silly and childish.  "Good.  Now, regardless of who bought who coffee, we need to open.  Miss Harker, if you would attend to the locks, please?"

She handed me the set of keys and for a moment, I was stunned.  First some mystery man buys me the coffee, and now CHANTELLE is letting me unlock the doors?

Surely this wasn't just another ordinary day.

"Come on then, hurry up!" Chantelle snapped, and I jumped to my feet, taking the keys and strolling out to the front doors.

Maybe the morning was just off to a weird start and I was being paranoid because I don't like my routine disrupted.

Yes, the bibliomaniac imagining things.  It made sense.

But as it turned out, I wasn't.

Less than three feet from the first set of double doors, my vision exploded in a flash of light and color and I was flung backwards off my feet.  My glasses nearly came off my face as I landed hard on my side, and I gritted my teeth with pain as I tried to readjust them on my face.  A high laugh, somewhere caught between that of a mischievous child and an evil demon, pierced the smoke and falling debris, making me shudder.

"My, what a drag!  Don't you people know you open right during the middle of Saturday morning cartoons?!  Think about what you're doing to all the poor kiddies, preventing them from rotting their brains!" the laughing voice said in a menacing way, and my heart began to pound in fear.  No!  It _couldn't_ be!

"Punch, Judy?  I think we need to give this old place a makeover, don't you agree?" the Joker cackled as he stepped into my view, green dreadlocks, red eyes, and all.  I coughed as I got to my feet and froze in horror at the sight of a flamethrower in his hands, painted to look like a smile.

_NO!_  
  
My books!  My library!  My job!

_Joker was going to torch the Gotham City library!_


	2. Well, That Was Dumb

[Jeanette's POV:]

Now, I'm not stupid by any standards, thank you very much.  I pride myself on my intelligence, perhaps to the point my ego's slightly bigger than it ought to be.  But at that moment, with the Joker threatening to burn down the place I loved most and perform an act rarely heard of since the Nazi reign, my protective instinct kicked in and caused me to do something very stupid.

Chantelle and the girls came running into the lobby and promptly screamed, practically losing their heads at the sight of Joker and his two cronies.  I on the other hand, scrambled to my feet and stumbled my way back behind the return counter.  Very little glass and debris had fallen back here, but I still stepped gingerly because of my sandals as I picked my way to the large cart of returned items that we had yet to shelve.  I stood shakily, grabbing a paperback Danielle Steel novel, muttered a quick prayer for forgiveness for what I was about to do, and chucked the book at the henchman nearest to me.  It only bounced off his shoulder and he paused, turning to blink at me in surprise.

"GET OUT OF HERE, YOU MONSTERS!" I screamed, grabbing two more paperbacks and throwing them at him.  "LEAVE US ALONE!"

An Anne Perry mystery and a Chicken Soup collection.  I winced as they bounced off him too.  I seemed to have garnered his twin's attention too, as the other huge man turned and blinked as well, though his face twisted in an ugly scowl, only made worse by his unsightly stubble.  I reached for another book as the Joker turned, also looking a little confused, and barely registered that this one was a hardback as I let it fly from my hand.  Then I realized what I'd thrown.

Christopher Paolini's _Eragon_.  I sucked in my breath and time seemed to slow down.  I've been clocked in the back of the head with a copy of that book before.  Terrible composition and poor sentence structure, with a mesh of ideas stolen from Anne McCaffrey and the Star Wars movies, hefty for a first novel written by a fifteen-year-old.  Let me tell you, _Eragon_ is painful on one's head in several ways, but it hurts the most when you're literally hit with it.

It caught Joker just beneath his eye and I heard a distinct, fleshy CRACK! as he recoiled from the hit.  He turned back to me hissing, murder in his expression, blood pouring from his broken nose and welling up in the welt under his eye.

"Oops." was all I managed to squeak out.

" _Jeanette_!" I heard several of my coworkers shriek.

"You are one of the most stupid people I've EVER had welcome me anywhere!" Joker snarled, his red eyes boring into me, and my insides frosted over with the ice of fearful despair.  "Punch, Judy!  How about you get started in the munchkin's hole while I teach Miss Four-Eyes here some manners?"

Oh, _hell_!

I started to back up, barely registering the screams of my coworkers or the disappearances of the two goons down the juvenile wing or the wall of shelves I backed into.  Those terrible red eyes were taking up my entire range of vision, silently promising me horror beyond my imagination.

_Right then, Miss Harker_ , I thought with a bitter irony, _That was one of the most brainless things you've done in your life._

He drew closer and closer, and I tried to grope around for something to hit him with, but I maintained eye contact.  Maybe he wouldn't notice if I kept looking straight at him.

That, it seemed, was useless.  He noticed right away and his hand shot out and squeezed my wrist before I could even properly get something in my grip.

"You know, you're probably the most stupid woman I've ever met for someone who makes a living being a bookworm." he growled, his red eyes narrowing, " _No_ one _ever_ hits me, _EVER_!"

"Looks like you need to reevaluate your studies, then," I managed to muster up some bravado to throw back at him, "Because I just did!"

Okay, I admit it, that was not the smartest thing I could have said after blacking his eye.  He snarled in anger, whipping me around by my wrist, which felt like it was going to pop right out of its socket, and threw me over the counter.  For a second that seemed to last forever, I was flying, then hit the ground hard, the wind knocked right out of me.  My shoulders were definitely going to be bruised black and blue before the day was out.

"Ah, ah, ah!" the Joker scolded me in a singsong voice, "You should know better, Miss Four-Eyes."  He jumped over the counter, and pointed the flamethrower's nozzle directly at my face.  My heart began to pound frantically, my skin broke out in a cold sweat.

"No talking in the library!" he yelled, his voice dropping back down to its demonic tones.

I rolled out of the way just in time before the flames hit me.  I felt searing heat behind me, and I rolled a bit more, hoping to snuff any of the fire that might have caught at my clothes.  Thankfully, it turned out I wasn't burning.  Joker began cackling wildly and I struggled to my feet, then immediately wished I was dreaming.

Fire was already beginning to race up one of the walls, the flames licking hungrily at a bookcase like a dehydrated man at a water fountain.

"NO!" I screamed, surging to my feet, but I was too late to keep the books I'd thrown at Joker from being devoured by the growing blaze.  This was all of my worst nightmares coming true at once.

Then, as if by some miracle, the sprinkler system came on.  Tiny jets of water struck my face and bounced off my glasses as they quenched the fire's thirst.

"WHAT?!" Joker screamed, looking scandalized.  "You're kidding me!  Of all the places to have a flame-retardant system that's not retarded!"

"Looks like your plan is all washed up, Joker." came a new voice, and I froze on the spot.  There he was, stepping through the smoke like an overgrown shadow, outfitted in armor made from black Kevlar.  I'd heard he was terrifying, ruthless, cunning, able to strike fear in the hearts of criminals with his appearance alone.

I'd never heard he was given to spitting out bad puns.

Call me faithless or say I was having a bad day, but the appearance of the Batman after _that_ terrible one-liner did _not_ fill me with relief.

Joker's face twisted in a brief snarl, then he suddenly grinned bigger than before, and pointed the flamethrower at Batman, who pulled up his cape faster than I could register, repelling the flames easily.  On and on the sprinklers continued to pump out water, but neither of them seemed to care, their battle turning into an elaborate dance that seemed to range all over.  Suddenly the two henchmen burst back into the room, and raced over to join the fray.  Batman was outnumbered, and I felt sinking despair in my chest.  I could only crouch where I was, shaking all over, the water plastering my clothes to my skin, my vision blurred.  What was I supposed to…?

Something caught my eye.   _Eragon_.  The image of the dragon on the dust jacket was charred black and cracking, but otherwise it seemed mostly intact.  I knew what I could do to help.

Batman spun around, aiming a high kick at one of them, the sole of his combat boot connecting with a sickening crunch, and the guy went flying backwards off his feet.  The second one grabbed Batman from behind, catching him under his arms, holding him tight as the Joker approached them both.

I got to my feet and took pains to inch my way toward them as quietly as I was able, scooping _Eragon_ off the floor, the cover crackling slightly under my touch, but it was otherwise silent.

"Thank you, Judy," Joker was saying happily, "You know, Batsy, you really rain on my parade sometimes, but I'm willing to book some time this week to dance, just you and me."

Joker, the fire, the ruined copies of the books, the sprinkler, my wet clothes, the message from my mother, the lack of a love life, the mysterious guy who bought my coffee…I'd thought before that I was having a bad day!

But the bad puns really set it off!

Before any of the three knew what was happening, I raised the book as high as I was able and brought it down with a WHOMP on the back of Joker's head.  His shoulders hiked right up to his ears and he slowly rotated on the spot to glare at me, only to have his eyes roll up in the back of his head as he swayed uneasily.  Batman and Judy could only stare, stunned as I backed up, giving Joker room to fall forward.  I blinked, not completely believing what I'd just done, and looked up at Batman, hoping he'd say something.

He swung his legs up over his head and flipped completely over, kicking Judy in the face, and sending him flying back onto his twin.  Batman landed easily, as though it was nothing, glanced down at Joker, then looked me in the eye.

"Nice hit." was all he said.  " _Eragon_ makes for a good missile weapon, too."

"What, that's it?!" I shrieked, furious.  "The least you could do is say 'thank you!'"

He ignored me, tying the Joker's hands behind his back before moving over to the Punch and Judy twins, cuffing them to each other.

"The police will be here soon, Miss Harker." he went on casually, like we were discussing the details of a luncheon.  "Once they're finished questioning you, you ought to go home and relax.  Try to forget what happened here if you can."

"You're kidding me, right?" I snorted, hardly noticing that Chantelle and the girls were coming out of their hiding places, pale-faced and shaken.  "I'm going to be lucky if that maniac—" I pointed to the Joker, taking a few steps back from him, "—doesn't decide to kill me in my sleep when he wakes up and escapes from Arkham again!"

Batman stood abruptly and advanced on me, making me let out a frightened squeak as I backed up.  He towered above most normal people, practically looming over me as he looked me in the eyes, his expression hard as stone.

"I'm not going to let that happen, Miss Harker!" he said in a growl.  I swallowed hard, and said nothing as he glared at me a moment longer.  Finally, when it seemed neither of us had anything more to say, he turned and hoisted the unconscious Crime Clown to his feet, making him stir.

"I don't wanna blow up the docks yet, mummy…" he murmured, "Five more minuuutesss…"

The Dark Knight tied his foe up to the henchman, and raced out the door, disappearing only seconds before the GCPD arrived on the scene.  They came surging through the door, and I knew it was inevitable that they would start questioning me.

But I still just stood there, not completely reassured the Bat would protect me from Joker, and still seething because he'd never given me a proper thank-you.


	3. The Insufferable, Unswayable Mr. Pendragon

[Jeanette's POV:]

To date, that had been the worst day of my entire life, and being drilled with questions by Chief Angel Rojas had done nothing to help.  At least Detective Yin had been both polite and understanding, if a bit brisk and professional.  I decided that I liked her, as far as cops went.

Rojas?

Let's just say that the battered, scarred _hardback_ copy of _Eragon_ I'd hit Joker with now is permanently blood-stained on one corner.  I'm amazed that they didn't arrest me for attacking an officer, but then I think Detective Yin's talk about post-traumatic stress may have had a hand in that.  Some time after that, I'm not entirely sure how long the interrogation went on for, but some time after that, I remember suddenly being back in my townhouse, locking all the doors and windows, pulling the blinds shut and wrapping myself up in a blanket.  I curled up on the couch, too shaken by the morning's events to read or eat or do much of anything, too frightened to fall asleep.

_"No one ever hits me, EVER!"_

The words replayed themselves over and over in my mind as I sat trembling, pulling my blanket tighter and tighter around my person, like a scared little kid hiding from the monsters under the bed.

Joker was going to be pissed off as hell, and I had the sickening feeling he'd want revenge.

_But he's the Joker.  Why would he worry about something petty like revenge over something as small as being clocked wi—_

_Oh, what the hell am I thinking?!  I'm going to be lucky if Batman holds his promise well enough that I don't end up with a permanent grin on my face!  I should have just left well enough alone.  I should have slunk to the phone instead and called the police, but I had to let my temper get the better of me._

Angry, frightened, and anxious, I sat on the couch a long time before I finally passed out and fell asleep.

_I was running from something I couldn't see, desperately trying to keep from stumbling.  All around me there was maniacal laughter, high-pitched and childlike.  The Joker's laugh.  Behind me there were running footfalls, coming closer and closer._

_Ahead of me there was a rope bridge, the kind you see in movies like Pirates of the Caribbean or Indiana Jones, stretched out over a vast, bottomless chasm.  The only way to get away from my pursuer was over the bridge.  It creaked and swayed ominously as I came close to it, and my heart fell somewhere around the region of my stomach when I stepped onto the first board and the bridge swung and dipped.  However, it held fast, and I took a few more tentative steps across before daring to glance over my shoulder._

_"Don't do it, Miss Harker!" Batman yelled, stretching an arm out to me._

_Batman?_

_Why was I running from him?_

_I took a few more steps and turned to face him, trembling._

_"Y-you said you weren't going to let J-Joker hurt me!" my words fell from my mouth clumsily, and I sounded like a terrified child.  "How do you expect me to believe you're going to keep your promise when you're always running around saving Gotham?!  You're not my personal savior!"_

_"She's right you know, Batsy!" Came a gleefully manic giggle, and I spun, looking toward the other end of the bridge.  Joker stepped on, making it sway again, and I reached out to grab the ropes and steady myself, my heart pounding like crazy.  "You can' t save them all!"_

_"Joker!  Leave her alone, or I'll—"_

_"You'll what, Batsy?  I've set up twenty dispensers of Joker gas, rigged to release their chuckle-inducing contents upon all of the more important buildings around Gotham.  Like city hall, for example!   Just think about all the changes that can take place once I've got a smile and nod from the big wigs!" he said with a low, evil chuckle, and my heart sank.  Of course._

_"So what's it going to be, Batsy?" Joker asked, finally within arm's reach.  "You going to save the city, or are you going to sacrifice them all for the neck of one scrawny, ill-mannered librarian?"_

_Batman stared at us both, and I knew he was weighing something in that mind of his.  I had a feeling I knew which he'd choose, and frankly, despite how scared I was, I couldn't blame him in the least._

_"Too late, it's our time!" Joker suddenly cackled, and the boards shifted beneath my feet, turning to books.  Joker pulled a lighter out of his purple suit, flicking it on, and letting the tiny flame dance over the ropes.  "We're burning bridges with you, Guano Man!"_

_I retracted my hands, turning back desperately toward Batman, but the fire was quicker and ate through the ropes, scorching the books beneath my feet and suddenly I was falling…_

I woke with a jump, my heart racing, and I realized I'd broken out into a cold sweat. I was still in the living room, tangled in my blanket, and night had fallen outside.  Shivering, I fought my way out of the blanket and rearranged it on my person, then shuffled into my kitchen.  Hoping a glass of water would help, I fumbled in my cabinets for a moment, then moved to the sink. I had just turned on the faucet and thrown back the curtains for some light when something outside caught my eye.  A vague shadow was moving across the ground outside, and I froze, heart pounding.  It had to be an animal, whatever it was, but it was large, and I began to suspect the worst.  Slowly, I turned off the faucet and set down the glass, moving around to the back door and peeking out of it.  For a moment, my heart was still beating frantically, and then I saw them.

Deer.  A stag, a doe, and three little fawns.

I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed, chuckling a little at how silly I was being.  I watched them dart across the grass, so elegant and graceful, and then it came into view, just visible in the moonlight.

A wolf, huge and black as midnight.  It was following the deer, crouching with its belly on the grass, and I suddenly wished the deer could move faster.  I'd had no idea that there were still wolves running around in this area of Gotham!  I had to call animal control or something…

I took a step back and the wolf froze, standing straight up, and looked directly at me.  For a long moment, neither of us moved, then it came loping up toward the steps under the door.  I knew it couldn't get in but I still felt highly vulnerable.  Guess that's part of that post-traumatic stress again.  But thankfully, the animal stopped a few feet short of the steps and just watched me.  It was, I had to admit, strikingly beautiful in a way, and I found I couldn't just leave.  I'm not sure how much time passed as I stood there, just watching the wolf, but finally I told myself I needed to get back to sleep, and I took a few steps back from the door.  The wolf pricked its ears forward, then back and turned, slinking away into the night.  Sighing, I forgot about getting a drink and just decided to retire to my room.

I really needed the sleep, more than ever.

***

The next morning I went back to the library, hoping to help out. Joker had managed to damage very little of the books (mostly it was just the doors and walls that needed replaced,) but there were still several shelves of books that needed to be replaced, since the sprinklers had ruined them.  And of course, regardless of my fear of heights, Chantelle had nominated me for the task of going around and retrieving the books that needed replacing and taking note of them.  A repair crew arrived shortly, dedicating their attention to working on the doors and walls, (rather loudly, might I add.)  Police were stationed outside to ensure safety, but I had the feeling that none of our patrons were going to come back immediately after what happened yesterday. In a couple more days perhaps, but certainly not today, which meant I'd be going home early.

I'd gotten through one bookcase, pulling off all of the top shelf items and tossing them into the bin on the floor next to the ladder, when I heard Heidi squeal the name, "BRUCE WAYNE!"

Oh, nice. It figures.  What's the jet-setting playboy billionaire doing here?

I climbed down the ladder and started to move it over to the next bookcase, and caught a glimpse of some new faces talking to Chantelle.  Yes, indeed, 'twas Bruce Wayne, and a few other guys I didn't know.  I would have continued on with business as usual, but Chantelle caught sight of me and snapped her fingers in that brisk manner that indicated her temper was already teetering on its edge, so I sighed and came forward.

"Jeanette, these are Mr. Wayne, McCue, Duncan and Pendragon.  They've offered to graciously pull together their funds and replace the ruined books.  If you don't mind, would you see to it they each get a copy of the list of books?" she said in a curt voice, and I nodded, turning to shake hands with the men.  McCue was an older gentleman with iron gray hair and a mustache, and he didn't seem to smile a lot.  Duncan had a egotistical, oily air to him, and Wayne of course, seemed to be just as I'd always heard him described.

Mr. Pendragon however, caught me by surprise.  He was unusually tall for a man, almost 6'7", with long black hair he'd slicked back, pale, perfect skin, and dark emerald green eyes.  He was—I simply had no other word for it—beautiful!  He didn't smile when I went to shake his hand, but rather blinked at me, and without warning, brought my hand up to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

"What?!  I beg your pardon!" I just managed to squeak, feeling heat rising in my cheeks.

"And you shall have it, milady.  If I should profane with my unworthy lips thy person, please allow me to submit to thee my humblest apologies." he said in a beautiful voice that was both deep and rich.  His speech caught me off guard, and I found that my mouth had gone quite dry as he continued to speak.  "Please, if you carry with thee a complaint concerning my conduct, speak only my name and order me to cease and desist.  I am Lancelot Merlynnis Pendragon, and your humble servant, sweet woman."

I still couldn't quite find breath to speak, and my cheeks burned hotter than before.  His name was no doubt the odd humor of a parent with a love for Arthurian legends, but somehow he managed to work that to his advantage with his beauty, charm and grace.  Finally I thought of something to say.

"I have to get back to my work.  I-I'll make sure each of you get a copy of the list of books to replace."

Of all the things I could have said!

For the most part, the others seemed not to mind, but Mr. Pendragon seemed rather taken aback as he released my hand and I went back to the shelves.

"Jeanette Harker, Mr. Pendragon," I heard Chantelle say, and I desperately wanted to smack her about her mouth for even telling him anything, "I'm sorry she was rude to you—"

"But alas, accidental rudeness occurs most every day." I heard him answer, in a voice that carried despite the distance I put between us.  "But I was not offended by Miss Harker.  After all, considering the events of yesterday, I find her reaction far more forgivable than most."

"I think you're just saying that because you think she's cute, Lance." Bruce Wayne chuckled.  My cheeks were burning so much by now I was wondering why someone hadn't called the fire department on me.

"And  I say one ought not to jump to conclusions, Wayne." Lancelot Pendragon answered briskly.

"Can we get on with this, already?" Duncan threw in.  "I want to see what's so special about this library."

Ah.  That meant Chantelle was giving them the tour, showing them all the different reasons why the library's been here since the city was founded and why it was being nominated as a historical landmark in Gotham.  I wondered for a second whether those suits were there to find a loophole so they could get the place torn down to raise a mall, or whether they were here to help fund the library's nomination.

_I wonder what Mr. Pendragon likes to read, if he talks so elegantly all the time._

I froze in mid-action, letting the books simply slip from my hands and miss the bin below.  What in the world had put that thought in my head?

_Forget about it,_ I told myself a bit irritably, _Rich people don't even give anyone the time of day.  As if he'd want to tell you what he reads!  Hell, a pretty boy like him?  What's the guarantee he even_ can _read?  Maybe he says stuff like that because his parents have trained him to._

I chuckled a little maliciously at the thought, grabbing a few more books and tossing them into the bin, a little harsher than usual.  And I'd put the snob crowd with their crisp, perfectly pressed Italian suits out of my mind by the time our paths happened to cross again, me on the seventh shelf of the third aisle as they started to wind their way back around to the doors.  I glanced over as one by one, they appeared at the end of the aisle, led by Chantelle, hoping I'd get to hear what exactly their plans were for the library.

I must have leaned a bit too far back, because I lost my footing on the ladder, my foot slipped, and I fell, heart pounding as I let out a yelp.

Suddenly I wasn't falling any more, and two strong, muscular arms were catching me, one under my knees, the other at the middle of my back.  I slowly calmed down, looking up into that pair of green eyes, wide with…worry?

"Th-thank you, Mr. Pendragon." I managed to gasp.

"Miss Harker!  Are you alright?" he rumbled in that deep voice, and my heart started doing back flips.

"I-I think so," I muttered as he set me down, quite embarrassed to discover my knees were feeling weak.  "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" He asked, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

I frowned.  What was he playing at?

"You just ran down half of one of our aisles to catch me in the split second in took me to lose my balance." I said slowly, hoping he'd get the hint.  No person should be able to move that fast.

"Did I?" he mused, and I felt myself go hot again, this time with anger.

"Drop the dumb act, Mr. Pendragon!  There's no way you can move that fast!"  I snapped, poking him right in the chest, realizing there was something about his suit that seemed familiar.

"I certainly seem capable of such a feat when the life of a beautiful desert rose such as yourself is at risk of making this otherwise colorless world a far gloomier place with its loss." he answered, and suddenly I knew why.

"So _YOU'RE_ the man who paid for my coffee yesterday!" I gasped, appalled.  How dare he!  First making a mockery of me at Starbucks, then showing up here and embarrassing me, and now saving my backside and making fun of me?  I wasn't going to put up with it!

Furious, I swept past him and charged for the door.

"Wait, Miss Harker!" he called after me, sounding upset.  "What is wrong?!  What have I done to earn your wrath?  I thought you would appreciate the gesture!"

I spun and saw him right behind me, reaching out his hand, and was reminded horribly of my dream from last night.

"Yeah?  Well, you thought wrong!" I yelled, and he recoiled as though struck.  I looked past him to Chantelle, whose expression was appalled.  "I need to go back home, I'm not feeling well!"

She made no effort to argue and I stomped out the door to my Dodge, ignoring Mr. Pendragon as best as I could when he followed me outside.

"Miss Harker!  Miss Harker, please wait!" he pleaded.  Part of me really wanted to, he sounded so earnest, but the rest of me was too furious to care.  "Miss Harker!  Please!  Relay to me your frustrations with me that I might find a way of rectifying however I have wronged you!"

I wrenched open the door to my Neon and glared at him, hating his sweet sincerity and utterly oblivious male mind.

"If you need me to tell you, then you're an idiot, for all of your flowery speech, Mr. Pendragon!" I snapped, slipping inside my car.  I made to slam the door shut, but he caught it before I could, staring at me pleading green eyes.

"Then if I were to figure it out for myself, could I not talk to you and have the chance to earn your forgiveness?" he asked, in tones of desperation.

"Maybe," I growled, trying to pull the door shut again, but it wouldn't budge.  "Let go!"

"Over coffee, then!" He said, regaining his composure.  "After all, we clearly take our beverages at the same establishment, do we not?"

What in the world was he playing at?  I wanted to smack him with something, but unfortunately I had no hardbacks on my passenger side seat at the time, and he did seem so sincere…

"Please, Miss Harker." he said.  "I'll buy yours, as well."

I glowered at him, then calmed down.  Well, why not?  It didn't sound like too bad an idea, and it never hurt to educate a male out of his stupidity.

And he _was_ really handsome…

"Well…all right, fine!  I suppose I could go for a cup some time." I muttered, looking away from him, heat rising in my cheeks once more.

"Excellent!" he said, the ghost of a smile on his face, "Wednesday at eleven o'clock, then?"

"Don't see why not." I mumbled.

"I look forward to it." he said, and I could hear in his voice that he meant it.  He grabbed my hand again, brushing my fingers to his soft lips, then pulled away, leaving me to stare, my mouth working furiously as I tried to think up a retort.  Strangely though, I was having trouble forming a coherent thought.  The corners of his mouth twitched upward into a wry smile, and he shut the door to my car.

"I wish thee a lovely afternoon, Miss Harker."

I shrieked in anger and pulled out of the parking lot, wanting nothing more than to get home.  I glanced up in my rearview mirror, and saw Lancelot Pendragon watching me, still standing where I left him.  I groaned.  What in the world had I just agreed to?

I was still struggling to figure it all out when I reached my townhouse, feeling confused and disoriented after the day's events.  I was halfway up the steps to the door when I noticed the lights in my living room were on.

Odd.  I didn't remember leaving those on.

I almost dismissed it from my mind, but as I pulled out my keys, I touched the door, and it slowly creaked inward, making me freeze, my feet rooted to the spot and my heart hammering in panic.

_Someone was in my house!_


	4. The Therapeutic Power of Ice Cream

[Jeanette's POV:]

My heart was pounding, and my mind was going several miles a minute as I gently pushed the door a little further in, straining my ears for any sounds of my intruder.  Glancing in, there appeared to be no harm done: the living room was perfectly intact, the door showed no signs of forced entry, and I could hear music playing softly from further in, possibly the kitchen.  Still, I wasn't taking chances that this trespasser was as much of a gentleman as Mr. Pendragon, and I opened the coat closet door as I shut the front one, pulling out a metal baseball bat I kept for safety reasons.  I'm not a paranoid person, (or at the very least I wouldn't consider having been one before yesterday,) but I've got an uncle in the Navy who gave me the bat as a present when I told him I hated reading horror novels.

_Lo!  Fail me not, faithful club!_

I tried to adjust the bat in my grip as I stepped carefully into the living room, but I had no way of knowing if I was holding it correctly, so I gave up trying.  Again, there was no one I could see, and no sign of the place being ransacked.  A shiver started to run up my spine and I swallowed as quietly as I could over the knot in my throat.  This wasn't too different from a scene in one of my aforementioned horror novels, and I decided in this case I would rather not live in a book.

The hair on the back of my neck raised, like I was being watched, and I spun to look at my staircase, finding someone there.

He was relatively tall and so thin I thought for a second he might be anorexic.  He wore a skin-tight gray suit that covered him, nearly head to toe, underneath a red cloak and mantle, with a belt around his thin waist.  His mask was gray also, with a black diamond dead-center over his forehead, black ears and markings around his eyes, which were all of him I could really see, two soft-brown orbs that stared at me coldly.

"Ahh, you're home." he said in a strange, husky accent I couldn't identify, talking like I was a roommate just getting back to the dorm.  He hefted one of my books up for me to see.  "You might want to consider straightening your bedroom up.  It's disgusting, really.  A woman who can be so neurotically nitpicky about how clean her townhouse is doesn't care if she leaves her most precious treasures just lying about in her filthy bedroom?  And here I always heard yours was the cleverer of the sexes."

I'm not sure what it was; seeing my house broken into, finding a criminal from Arkham on my staircase, or hearing him insult me—though I believe it might have been all three—but I opened my mouth, screaming in rage, and charged at him, his eyes opening wide behind his mask.  Suddenly the bat didn't feel like a heavy, awkward club any more, but more of an extension of my arms as I swung, catching him on his side and sending him sprawling on the staircase.  He growled in pain, and I swung again, but this time he got out of the way, and the bat connected with the empty stairs, sending reverberating shudders through my arms.  I glanced up, finding him already near the top of the stairs, and I stomped up after him, lugging the bat along.

"You are DEAD, you villainous dog!" I roared at his retreating cloak as he dove into my room, "By my head, thou shalt be slain or this isn't the countenance of Jeanette Marie Harker!"

Um, yes, the Shakespeare-inspired threats?  Those come naturally for me.

I charged into my room, and nearly fell over in shock.

It was clean.

Perfectly clean and virtually spotless, with all of my books beautifully catalogued and carefully set in place on each shelf.

"Oh, that tears it!  You are so dead…" I growled.  NOBODY touches my books except me!  The guy stared at me, pressed his thumbs together, and—I could scarcely believe what I was witnessing, began to rise off the floor until the top of his head brushed the ceiling.

"Not if you can't reach me," he answered smugly, folding his legs like he was meditating.

_Idiot!_

I ran over and yanked hard on one of the tasseled sides of his cloak, and he almost came completely back down to the floor with an astonished yelp.  I hoisted the bat above my head, ready for a swing—

And the black diamond in the middle of his mask opened to reveal a third eye.

A sharp, stabbing pain erupted in my head, making me cry out in pain.  It felt like someone was trying to carve my brain right out of my head.  A second later, it stopped, and I blinked, fighting back tears.

I'd been rescued, much to my surprise, by the appearance of a young man with violently red hair and pale skin, wearing a white tank top and dark blue jeans.  I knew that face; I could pick out my cousin anywhere in a crowd.

"Jeannie!"  he squeaked, looking horrified.  "What are ye doin' home so soon?!"

"What am—what am _I_?!—I should be asking _you_ the questions, Jesse!!  What in the name of Jane Austen are you doing in my house?!  And who the hell is—"

"FANTASIA!" the man roared, his third eye disappearing as though it never were, "Get her away from me!  She's a crazy bitch!"

_What…the…hell?_

"SPELLY!" Jesse roared back, charging over and seizing the man by the front of his mantle, "DONNAE TALK ABOOT ME COUSIN THA' WAY!"

'Spelly?'  What kind of name was 'Spelly?'  But he looked familiar…

Suddenly I remembered seeing a headline in the local newspaper not too long ago, featuring an insane hypnotist named Spellbinder.  He hadn't really been in the news since, but his picture made the paper when it was revealed he had tried to steal a legendary gemstone from the BCC auction.  Since then he was said to have been locked up in Arkham.

As for Jesse, he's my cousin from Scotland.  His mother and my father were brother and sister, but I've not seen nor heard from my dad in years, so I'm not sure why Jesse's family had remained in Scotland while mine had lived in the States.  I also knew that a while ago Jesse had been touring with the Zataras, the father-daughter magic show that travels worldwide, because Giovanni Zatara had offered Jesse a very rewarding career as a magician.  But three years ago, for reasons he still refused to tell anyone, Jesse had left the show and wasn't speaking with the Zataras.  I'd seen him a great deal since, but over the past month or so, he'd stopped coming around.

And now…

"YOU BROUGHT AN INSANE CRIMINAL INTO MY HOUSE, JESSE?!" I screamed.  Oh, this day was just getting better and better!

"Jeannie," he said in his soft, soothing voice, reaching up and plucking the bat from my hands, "Ye need tae calm yerself down."

"NO!!  I AM NOT GOING TO BE CALM!  YOU GET HIM OUT OF HERE!!  I'VE GOT ENOUGH PROBLEMS ALREADY!" I snapped, jabbing a finger into my cousin's chest.

"I cannae leave him by his lonesome, ye ken," Jesse said calmly, "I be owin' him a life debt."

"A what?!" I spluttered helplessly, feeling tears at the back of my eyes.  I was just ready for this day to be over.

"Relax, Jeannie," Jesse sighed again.  "Ye need tae be gettin' some rest, aye, but I'll be explainin' e'erythin' tae ye o'er a cup o' coffee."

"Coffee sounds amazing," I moaned pitifully, giving in.  Jesse could protect us plenty against the likes of Spellbinder.  Then I thought about the coffee and remembered that I had arranged to meet Mr. Pendragon on Wednesday and groaned in exasperation.

"Hmph," I heard Spellbinder growl, "With the way she carries on, you'd think being a librarian was a high-stress job."

He was so lucky I was too tired to turn around and clock him in his third eye.

***

Few people can work magic in the kitchen like my younger cousin Jesse.

For one thing, he's a magician.  Magic is a given there.

For another, I taught him to cook, and I would assume with all the traveling he did with Zatara, he picked up a few extra things here and there.  And the kid makes a butt-kicking good cup of hazelnut coffee.  He set an enormous, steaming mug down in front of me—really it was more like a tankard—and started to add sugar and milk to it.  I tried to protest when he took away the sugar, but when Jesse blinks his large brown eyes at you, you usually have a really hard time arguing with him afterward.

And the kid wonders why women practically throw themselves at him when he walks by.

"Ye donnae need tae be givin' yeself a rush ye'll be regrettin' in an ahr." he scolded me gently, handing the sugar bowl over to Spellbinder.

"When I said I wanted sugar, this isn't exactly what I had in mind," the hypnotist muttered darkly.

Wait, what?!

I actually managed to look at him, ignoring Jesse working on my coffee.  Did that three-eyed freak just say what I think he just said?  No, there was no way that—

_Ignore him_ , I told myself, pointedly looking back as my cousin started to stir the beverage, _He's just trying to mess with you.  He doesn't like the fact that you nearly handed his ass to him and he's angry with Jesse for stepping in and defending me.  Just ignore him._

"You have a problem me, Jeanette?" Spellbinder asked me, his mask shifting slightly, like he was raising an eyebrow.

"Gee, you only broke into my house, went through my things, and threatened me.  Why in the world would I have a problem with you, do you think?" I asked in mock surprise, lacing every word with equal sarcasm.  Did that extra eye actually impair his vision or something?  I would have thought my dislike was painfully obvious, even to a blind poet or something.   _Homer would definitely be able to see it_.  I snorted.

"A-actually, ye did leave me a spare key, Jeannie," Jesse said sheepishly, sinking into his chair and avoiding my eye.

"Oh," I said, remembering when I'd first seen him back from the Zatara tour.  He'd needed a place to stay for a while, and I'd given him the spare key to the townhouse so if he ever had to come back for a few days he could get in.  At once I felt a little stupid, and took a sip of my coffee, hoping to stall for time.

"An' I was th' one tae fix up yer room also," Jesse added, his shoulders hiking up to his ears as his face when a brilliant pink, "I heard aboot what happened tae ye yesterday, an' I was hopin' tae surprise ye a little when ye came home, try tae make ye feel better."

Now I felt really stupid. It would be just like Jesse to do something as thoughtful as that.

"An' Spelly was goin' tae find a cookbook for me when ye found him," he added, then glared pointedly at the ex-monk, "Though I be takin' no fault fer his stupid mouth."

"Watch it, Scot." Spellbinder shot back.  "You owe me."

"Now that you bring it up again," I interjected, "What exactly do you owe this freak, Jesse, and why?"

My cousin blinked at me a moment, then sighed.

"Ye remember hearin' how the Joker an' a few others escaped from Arkham no' long ago, aye?" he asked, and I shuddered, nodding.  Oh, I knew that only too well now.

"Then ye also ken how they found the Penguin sayin' he was bein' controlled by vampires?  Well, aboot tha' time I was on a job, an' I happened tae run intae Firefly.  Heard o' him?"

"Yeah…" I said uneasily.  I already didn't like where this was going.

"Seems he though' I was comin' tae muscle in on his action.  Still got nary a clue what he was up tae, but he turned on me.  Coulda handled meself, but then I had an attack, an' collapsed." He said in a soft voice, and I winced in sympathy.  Both Jesse and I have very mild forms of sickle-cell anemia, but when Jesse suffers an attack, he ends up in severe pain to the point of borderline paralysis.  He continued, "An' it was round aboot tha' time when Spelly here—" he motioned toward the hypnotist, "—showed up.  He an' Firefly'd been havin' a bit o' bad blood between them, so he hypnotized him when he saw his chance.  He didn't even ken he'd saved me life until I thanked him for it.  So now I owe him a life debt."

Oh, man!  I groaned and looked between them.

"Jesse Orion Macallister," I said slowly, and he flinched the way he always does when someone says his full name, "You are one of the most thick-headed men I've ever had the misfortune to be related to!  How could you just let yourself end up owing this…this…freak your life?!"

"I didnae mean tae…" he said, his face going a few shades lighter than his hair as he stared down into his coffee.

"UGH!  And I thought I was having problems!" I groaned, smacking a hand to my forehead and slumping in my chair.

"You are aware that the 'freak' has perfectly able, working ears and can hear you talking about him as though he's not here." Spellbinder said coldly to my right.

"Yes, well," I snapped, glaring at him, "Take note that I don't really care."

"You'd best watch yourself, Miss Harker," he sneered, "Or the Joker won't be the only one out for your blood."

I froze.  How did he…?

"Khalama!" Jesse yelled suddenly, his face darkening.  For a moment I wondered what in the heck that could mean, and then I saw Spellbinder jump as though shot at.  "That'll be enough!  Leave me cousin be!"

Spellbinder settled back in his seat glaring darkly, but said gently, "As you wish, Fantasia."

"And why do you keep calling him that?" I demanded.

"Me stage name." Jesse answered evasively.

I could only groan and swing my legs over the arm of my chair.  Today was just as overwhelming and stressful as yesterday, (well, maybe not nearly as stressful,) and I needed something to take my mind off it.

"Aye, ye be lookin' harried, ye are," Jesse remarked.

"You think?" I snorted.

"Ice cream." He said abruptly.

"W-what?"

"Ye need ice cream," he declared.  Oh, thank God!  I started to get up but he waved me to sit back down in my seat, "Neh, neh.  Ye stay righ' there."

"But I don't have any—"

"I brought some." Jesse answered as he stepped into the kitchen, and Spellbinder gave a loud, false cough.  "Ach, ahright then, Spelly and I brought some."

"That's more like it." The ex-monk snapped.  Shortly Jesse returned, three bowls of ice cream and spoons in tow.

"Here we be," he declared brightly, setting a bowl down in front of me.

"What's the flavor?" I asked warily.  It wasn't that I didn't trust my own cousin, but rather that I knew he had unusual tastes sometimes.  Oddly, it was Spellbinder who answered.

"Coldstone's Mint Dark Chocolate.  Nothing better."

I shot him a glare, daring him to be lying, and he shrugged back at me, digging into his ice cream.  It was rather surprising he managed to eat it at all, considering how high his scarf sat.  I steeled myself, ready for anything…and found it was actually just that.  The ice cream was a perfect dark chocolate with a minty aftertaste.  I loved it instantly and started to fall on it.

"Feel better?" Jesse asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A little," I answered between bites.

"And the ice cream?" he grinned, and I smiled back.

"It's helping."


	5. Animal Matters

[Lance's POV:]

There are few things in life as intolerable as paperwork, and few do I detest more.  Still, I am a businessman, and I am well aware that there shall always, always be paperwork so long as Dragon's Blood, Inc. and the responsibilities of running a business empire rest upon my shoulders.

I was just getting through a stack of the damned paperwork when the intercom on my desk chimed, the light blinking, and it gave me quite a charge.  Surprising, to think I was so engrossed I jumped at a buzzing sound as familiar to me as my own hands.  Shaking the noise from my head, I pressed down on the button and asked, "Yes?"

"Mr. Pendragon, sir," came the calm, collected voice of my secretary, Gerard, "A Mr. Greene is here to see you.  He doesn't have an appointment—"

"Send him up, Gerard." I interrupted.  Robert Greene never needed an appointment to see me.

"Of course, Mr. Pendragon."  If Gerard was at all surprised by my response, he did an excellent job of not showing it.

"Gerard Montaine," I gave him my best attempt at a scolding mother tone, "How long have you been in service to me?"

"Thirteen years, Mr. Pendragon."

"Then why in the name of God are you still referring to me by my surname?  Have I not told you time and again you may call me Lancelot?"

"Old habits die hard, Mr. Pendragon."  He answered before dropping the line.

Harrumph.  As annoying as he can be, the man brings up an excellent point.  I shook my head and returned to the tedious signing of forms until the door to my office swung open and a young man not too many years my junior entered.

"Yo, what's up, Lancey-pants?" he drawled.

"Do you never _knock_ , like a normal person?" I shot back.

Robert Greene, better known as Rook, the Riddler's gunman, is of average height and build, with black-and-white, spiked hair and warm gray eyes.  His shirt and tie also are black and white, checker-patterned like a chessboard, and he wears black pants with gun holsters on the belt.  He swaggered—he seems to swagger everywhere he goes when he's in a good mood—over to my desk, and I caught the faint whiff of alcohol coming from his person.

Robert Greene is the most foul, repressed, ill-mannered chit I've ever met in the long twenty-five years I've been alive.  He's a womanizing, hormonal buffoon who thinks with his genitals as often as he does his guns and has less than enough brains to fill an eggcup.  He's rude, unkempt, unwashed, disgusting, hardly educated properly, a greedy, begging freeloader with a taste for alcohol and cigarettes, and he gets on the very last nerves of generally everyone he meets.

Would it surprise anyone to learn he is the only man I completely trust with my life, and the only person I consider a brother?

I'm willing to take bets on that.

"Come on, man.  You know when it's me, so I don't need to!" he chuckled, looking so pleased with himself it took a great deal of restraint not to reach up and smash his face against the surface of my desk.  After all, there's no telling if I'd ever get the smell of blood out of the polished wood.

"Of course I know when it's you." I grumbled.  "You smell repulsive.  Have you ever heard of a miraculous invention called a shower?"

"Might've seen one once." he answered, grinning.

"And what about a good dental scrubbing?  Perhaps some mouthwash?" I growled, looking him in the eye.  "I can smell the beer on your breath."

"Geez, you tightwad.  You gotta learn to let loose and really LIVE every once in a while." Rook snorted, rolling his eyes at me.

"Not if it involves loss of inhibition, lack of hygiene, and numerous sexually-transmitted diseases running rampant through my body, ruining my testicles." I answered, signing another form and moving it to my completed stack.

Rook winced.  "DUDE!"

"What?" I asked, nearly snapping my pen in my grip.

"Dude, you need to get laid or something!  'Testicles?'  Really?!  Call them balls, stones, nads, family jewels, anything!  Just not that!" he groaned, covering his face.

"Why not?" I snapped irritably.  "It's grammatically accurate.  They are tes—"

"NO NO NO NO NO!  Don't say it, don't say it!" he cut me off, waving his hands wildly, "Just say balls!"

"Why should I?"

"Please, for my sake?"

"Robert—"

"Come on, just call them balls.  Just let me hear you say it at least once, so I know you're at least semi-normal.  Just say 'balls!'"

I let my lip curl as I gave a silent growl; he knows I am far from normal, by any standards.  Still, I knew he wouldn't let it lie until he was reassured, so better to give him what he wanted.

"Balls." I said boredly, rolling my eyes and signing two more forms.  He gave a melodramatic sigh and brought his hand down on my shoulder.

"Thank GOD!  What a relief!  You wouldn't seriously say something like that in front of the chicks, now would you?"

"Why in the world would I discuss reproductive organs in the presence of a lady?  It's simply inappropriate." I snapped.  What in the world was he thinking?  As if I would say something so…so…so like _him_!

"Oh, but it's okay to talk about that around me?" he snorted.

"You are a man, you gun-slinging yahoo.  Men talk like this in each other's company or so I'm told.  And in any event, you started this whole thing with talk of how I need to 'live', if you will recall."

"You need to get laid." he repeated, shaking his head at me like I was a lost cause.  "Seriously."

"And on serious topics," I asked, remembering what I'd wanted to talk to him about, "I have something to share with you."

"Is it contagious pompous rich-boy tightwad germs?" he said warily, taking a step back from the desk.

"Of course not, you moron!" I was on the verge of yelling.  "I met a woman yesterday!"

Suddenly he was all ears, the disgusting little bastard.

"Oooooh!   Lancey met a _girl_?" he sounded like an immature high school boy.  "Come on, man.  Spill it!  Tell Rookie about your new lady friend!"

"You've the worst one-track mind I've ever had the misfortune to encounter." I muttered.

"Is she hot?  She's gotta be some kind of a bombshell to get your attention, you hard-ass dog!" he chuckled, letting his tongue loll out of his open mouth.

Disgusting.

And did I mention he has a one-track mind?

I sighed, praying for patience, and the image of Miss Harker came to my mind, letting me relax almost instantly.

"Oh, Robert.  She is the most beautiful, unmarred lady I've ever laid eyes upon in this dreary city." I answered, resting my chin on my hand.

He froze, looking at me with an expression of the utmost horror.  "Lance, I don't like that look on your face.  That goofy grin of yours is scaring me."

"Oh, do be quiet and listen a moment, Robert!"  I snapped.  "Perhaps you might learn to understand a thing or two concerning women.  Her name is Jeanette Harker."

"Sounds a little stiff-collar." he muttered.

"She is far from stiff-collar, my friend.  She is the absolute vision of loveliness.  Such pale skin and soft brown eyes!  Lo, she is the Juliet to my Romeo!  Attractive as the shell may be, the physical beauty cannot compare to the obvious lover of the classics on the inside, nor the incredible wit and sharp intellect produced as a result thereof!  And so observant, one might think the predators of the air had taken to walking among men in their likeness!  She noticed the speed with which I was able to move in order to catch her when she fell.  Rare has it been since I've met someone so sharp-eyed!  And yet, despite the blade she wields in place of a tongue, I sense a softer, more vulnerable woman underneath, a lover waiting for a white knight to which she is able to open her heart."

I sighed, breathless and lost in thought, dwelling on Miss Harker's look of absolute fury she was wearing when we parted ways yesterday.  Somehow it only made her all the more beautiful, and I was finding it very difficult to keep my mind from straying to her.  After all, she'd agreed to take coffee with me the day after tomorrow.

"Dude.  Speak English.  Seriously." Rook said in exasperation.

Oh, he was so lucky I didn't strangle him!

"She's amazing, Robert." I said slowly, "Did you get all of that, or did I use too many syllables?"

"She sounds a little too perfect!" he snorted, then he calmed down a little, and asked quietly, "What's her name again?"

"Jeanette Harker." I answered, sighing as I did, lost in thoughts of that beautifully furious expression again.  He made a non-committal noise and I added, having saved the best part for the last, "And she's agreed to share a coffee with me Wednesday."

Rook's reaction was immediate.  He had been examining on of my crystalline coasters and it slipped from his hand as he stared at me with wide, stunned eyes.  I reached out and caught the coaster as it fell, its weight barely moving my hand.

"She agreed to a date with you?!  You work faster than I thought!" he gasped.

"It's not a date," I growled irritably, "It's a simple chat over a beverage."

"Man, that's _totally_ a date." he corrected, a grin working its way over his features.

" 'Tis the beginning of a courtship, Robert, not a 'date.'" I shot back.  "A 'date' would imply something a little more formal involving dinner and tickets to the theatre.  No, this is just a friendly chat."

"You're such a rich totty, Lance." was all he managed to throw back at me, and I almost smiled.  Perhaps under other circumstances—for instance, had he been raised properly and given the lecture of what delicate creatures women can be—he would understand the point I try to get at.

"Then why are you still friends with me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.  He turned his stormy gray eyes on me, giving me a long, serious stare, and I nodded in response, letting him know I retracted the statement.  It hadn't been a fair question to begin with.

"Anyway, there's another reason I came to see you." he remarked, crossing his arms, his countenance darkening.  "There's been some disturbances in the sewer system lately."

I growled again, letting my lip curl up to show my displeasure.  If he even THOUGHT I was going to consider crawling about in filth for his amusement, he'd better start carrying silver bullets more often.

"Don't give me that, Lance!" he snapped, "I know you don't like the idea, but just listen a second!"

"If it involves disturbances and sewers, I should think the most obvious culprit is roughly seven feet tall, scaly, and Cajun." I murmured darkly.  I hate lizards with a passion, (there's one in particular I wouldn't mind offing,) and Killer Croc is no exception.  He mainly operates in the network of sewers beneath Gotham City, so I had no idea why Rook and his superior hadn't naturally come to that conclusion.

"Listen, we know about Croc—"

_That_ was a surprise.

"But Riddly's not so sure it's him.  Or at least, that he's alone.  We ran into a tight situation the other night, the details of which you are not allowed to know—"

Thank heaven!

"And when we were in the sewers, we found claw marks, but they don't match Croc's.  Too close together and the rents were too long.  And here's the big clincher—boss found wolf hair nearby." he whispered this last part, looking thoroughly impressed, as he knew he had my attention now.  It was unlikely that true wolves would get loose in the city, much less the sewer system, and there was very little down there that their claws could leave depressions in.  This left one conclusion for us.

"Another?" my voice left me in a gasp.

I'd never seen another one like me, let alone met one here in Gotham.  To think there was now one running here, almost literally right under my nose…

"Yeah.  We don't know how long he's been here or what his connection to Croc is, but I'm dead positive that our guess is right." Rook said quickly and quietly, "Lance…you're not alone anymore…and if all the urban myths are true…you two could end up in a turf war, like some of the mob bosses around here, fighting for territory.  I say you need to go down there, find this guy, and show him who's top dog around Gotham."

"No force," I snapped, rising from my chair, "In heaven or on earth…will make me enter those tunnels."

"What about _Miss Harker_?" he asked slyly.

"What _about_ Miss Harker?" I shot back.  What was he playing at, dragging her name into this?

"What if this newb threatens your little lady in order to get to you, to assert dominance?  That's typical, right?  Or what if he has the same taste in women?  You don't go down there and asset your position as the alpha when you've got the chance, you could lose more than just your dignity." he pointed out.

And by God, it was such a sensible suggestion coming from him that it was precisely why I lowered myself to skulking about the sewers with him come sundown that same evening.

"For the love of mud, Lance, quit wrinkling up your nose like that.  It's getting on my nerves!" Robert muttered angrily, shining the flashlight in my eyes.

"Thou shouldst try having a nose like mine sometime, and then tell me not to wrinkle it in displeasure!" I shot back, "Would thee enjoy having the smell of rotting cabbage and stale urine assaulting thy senses with every inhale?"

"Ugh.  Please don't say urine." he groaned.  "I really don't want to think about what we might be wading through."

Hmph.  So the idiot had _some_ sense of hygiene after all.  Who knew?

Personally, I didn't want to consider that line of thinking either, which is precisely why I had the foresight to dress in black pleather clothes.  Plastic leather not only cleaned easily, but it could also be disposed of, and I doubted I would want to wear these again after tonight.  For several long minutes we traversed the underground, Rook having me stop occasionally and sniff at places, trying to find the scent of this newcomer.  However, the odds weren't in my favor to begin with since the smell of the sewers was so strong, and I was having terrible trouble trying to find another other scent than the one native to this squalid underground.

"Here's the place where we first saw the marks!" Rook said at one point, charging down a passage.  Reluctantly, I followed, and we came to a stop at a wall that was covered in graffiti.  Underneath some of the more illegible script, I was able to make out five long gashes in the surface of the cement.  I crept a little closer, lowering my face, and inhaled.

Blood.

Blood and wolf.

And something else, something far less pleasant and twice as deadly.  I sniffed again to confirm.

Silver.

"Lance, what's wrong?" Rook asked.

"I smell silver.  This bodes ill for us all." I murmured, pulling away from the wall, and catching a whiff of something else.

"Yah got that right, city-boy."

It never ceases to amaze me how Rook and I manage to swear in tandem.  He spun first, pulling out his guns, but the lizard-man already had him by the shirt collar.

"Checkehs!  Nevah thought I'd see yah scopin' out my turf." He growled.

"Eh heh…Croc, old buddy, old pal…" Robert chuckled in a nervous way, "You aren't still mad about the whole accidentally shooting the tip of your tail thing?"

The flashlight went flying from his hand and went out as Killer Croc slammed him against the sewer walls, roaring.

"I'll take that as a yes….ohhhh…." Rook groaned, struggling in his grasp.

"Cease and desist at once my good reptilian fellow, if you please!" I finally sighed, brushing my bangs aside in vain.  One might think it suicide to attempt talking sense into a seven-foot handbag that still boasts its teeth, but it certainly seemed to give him enough pause.

"Huh?" he turned and looked at me, and in the darkness, our eyes met, gold to green.

"Lance, are you nuts?" Rook squawked at me, and Croc pushed him a little further against the wall.

"Shuddup, Checkehs.  I dun like talkin' food." He growled before swiveling his great reptilian head to look at me, nostrils flaring as he began to sniff in my scent.  "You—you ain't human!"

"Look who's speaking." I answered dryly.

"You smell like Eva!" he said in astonishment, dropping Rook unceremoniously into the slime beneath our feet.  I raised an eyebrow.

"Eva?" I prompted.

He growled in response for a moment, and lunged out, snapping his maw just short of my face.

If he thought I was going to flinch and back away, he had another thing coming.  Certainly he was taken aback, and relaxed a little.

"Eva." He repeated firmly.  "Say…if you're the same as her…mebbe…mebbe yah can help her.  She…she's hurt."

Aaaahhhhh….suddenly it made sense.

"I can guarantee nothing, my aquatic friend.  But perhaps I can determine what must be done, or at least how she is hurt." I answered calmly.

"No hospitals!" He snapped suddenly, as though I'd suggested it.

"Of course not." I answered.

"No doctahs either." He added for safe measure.

"Perish the thought." I replied. "Lead the way."

He gave me a skeptical growl, then turned and slowly started to amble down one of the tunnels, tail whipping behind him in agitation.  Rook was slowly getting to his feet beside me, a wary eye still upon the lizard-man, and he clapped a filth-covered hand upon my shoulder, which I tried to resist shrugging off.

"Dude, you're totally crazy!  He's going to eat us!" he whispered.

"Ah heard that, Checkehs." Came the call, and I started to stride after him, undaunted.  There was someone who needed my help, and such a call rose above Robert's petty concerns at this point.  I gave him a quick jerk of my head, and he followed, albeit reluctantly.  Killer Croc led us down several winding tunnels, weaving his way through a vast underground labyrinth only he was familiar with enough to navigate, giving me a twisted sense of vertigo after a while.  The smells, the darkness, the unbalancing nature of the monotonous sewer walls…I growled, feeling a ripple run through my body, shaking my head to clear it of the building nausea.  There was work to be done.

Finally the tunnels opened up into a decent-sized antechamber, half the floor sunk beneath dark water.  The other half was raised, and there were a decent number of tables lining the cracked floor.  Clearly Killer Croc was attempting to furnish the place.  Then, off in the furthest corner from us, I saw a pallet made of threadbare, patched blankets, and a young woman lying upon them.  Dark brown hair fell just below her shoulders, and amid the tangled locks, I could see two wolf ears lying flat, brown fur matching that of the tail coming from her back.  Panting slightly, her skin was sickly pale and drenched in sweat, as though fighting off a fever, and as we drew closer, she opened eyes that were already phasing between a soft brown and a piercing yellow, her werewolf immune system trying to fight off whatever had her this ill.

"Found her like this half-way down a tunnel tryin' ta get home.  Ah dunno what's wrong…" Croc said in a voice that was oddly tainted with worry.

"C-Croc…" the girl whimpered, "I-is that you…?  A-are you back…?"

"Eva!  Ah'm here, Eva!" he said, rushing over to her.

"I…I smell someone else…" she said, wincing in pain and confusion.

"Yeah, um…" Croc started to say, and I joined him at his side, leaning down to examine the girl.  Her eyes flicked over to me and she sniffed, then her eyes widened as she let out a small gasp.

"Don't move," I said as calmly as I could manage, crouching down and reaching out to touch her forehead.  She snarled a little, then lunged for my hand.

"Eva!" Croc yelled, and she winced again.

"Just relax, Miss Eva," I whispered.  "Be calm."

She gave me a distrusting glare, then slowly relaxed still panting, and allowed me to touch her forehead, which was burning and slick with sweat.  I leaned in a little closer, smelling, looking at the veins visible on her temples and neck, a vibrant, loathsome blue.

"Silver poisoning." I murmured.

"Silver?" Croc gasped.

"I take it you know what silver means to our kind?" I asked, and he nodded, yellow eyes wide.  "Very well then, you also know she will die if she doesn't get help."

"Ah said no hospitals!" he snarled.

"We have no need of one." I answered smoothly.  "I have suffered silver poisoning myself, and I know someone who can help.  He'll come if I call him.  But we need to get her out of here, and quickly!  No telling how much time she has left."

Croc and Eva exchanged a look, measuring my words and whether or not they ought to place their trust in me, making me nearly howl in frustration.  Didn't they see how important this was?!

Finally, Eva turned and looked me in the eye, sighing.

"Okay.  I'll trust you."

"Thank you for that, Miss Eva."

"What's your name?  You don't act like any other werewolf I've ever met." She said slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"My name is Lancelot Merlynnis Pendragon, Miss Eva.  You may call me Lance, for short.  Now we'd best be moving.  If you cannot stand, I recommend you get a ride from the walking handbag."

"Watch it, pretty-boy!" Croc growled, "Just 'cause yah can help Eva, doesn't mean ah won't bite."

"I recommend you don't, because you're incorrect." I answered coldly.  "Right now, I'm the only one who can help her.  Now pick her up."


	6. The Cost Of Healing

[Lance's POV:]

Few and far between number the men with scientific knowledge whom I trust, and Dr. Emile Dorian is at the top of the list.  So it was to him I had a call placed as we raced back to the mansion, Eva slipping between consciousness and unconsciousness the entire way.  For the first several tries the signal remained dead, and finally I decided to give up until we'd reached my estate, where I was sure to get a call through to him.  We arrived there in a short amount of time, though it truly felt a great deal longer, as time was of the essence.  I went ahead and sent Rook to lead Waylon Jones around the grounds to the back door.  None of the servants dared to stop me when I was moving as fast as I was, and only faithful Gerard latched himself to my side, ordering the others away.

"Do I want to know what is occurring, Mr. Pendragon?" he asked.

"You'll see soon, Gerard.  I require thee to vacate all entities from the rear entrance and ensure a private way up to my penthouse." I answered quickly, breaking into a run.

"Right you are, sir." Gerard answered, whipping out a small device resembling a palm pilot from his belt and rapidly pushing at its screen.  I slowed down enough to wonder about it; this was something I'd not seen before.

"What is that?"

"A Mobile Security System Menu," Gerard replied, not removing his eyes from the screen even when his long, curly blonde ponytail started to smack his face, "Just received it earlier from Wayne Enterprises."  He turned and gave me a pointed look, saying, "You have an upcoming meeting with Mr. Wayne tomorrow, if you will recall!"

I lifted my lip and growled in reply. This wasn't the time to be griping at me about such trivialities!  Wayne could—and would!—wait until tomorrow!

When we arrived at the back door, the hall was already devoid of people, and I could see two yellow eyes staring at me through the glass.  A keypad was mounted on the wall beside the doorframe, awaited a passcode, which I punched in without bothering to see if I was hitting the right keys or not.  I must have, for there came an approving beep, and Gerard swung the door open to admit Killer Croc, holding Eva tightly against him, and he had to duck to enter.  I glanced over and saw my secretary's eyes widen before he turned and gave me a look that said he'd drill me for questions later.  Rook came in behind Croc, still watching the grounds with a practiced eye to ensure no one had seen anything, and once he'd shut the door, we raced to one of the employee elevators and took it up to the penthouse level.  Instantly I whipped out my cell phone and dialed Dorian's number again, hoping against hope that this time he would answer.

"Answer, damn it all!" I growled.

There were three rings, a click, a shuffle, and a tentative, "H-hello?"

It certainly wasn't the voice I'd been expecting, but it was still a relief.

"Tygrus?  Tygrus, this is Lance!  I need you to get Dorian, straightaway!  This is an emergency!  I need him at the headquarters of Dragon's Blood, Inc!" my breath came out all at once, and I half-feared he wouldn't understand.

"Emergency?" I heard both his questions in that one word.

"Silver poisoning, Tygrus!  I'll explain more later!  I need Dorian here right away!  No telling how much time is left!" I nearly shouted into the phone as the elevator doors slid open at last.

"Hang on, Lance," was all he said before hanging up, and I was left to escort my unlikely houseguests into the living room.  Croc immediately went for the couch, gently setting Eva on it and brushing back her hair from her face.  Gerard, hardly missing a beat, went straight for the linen closet and ordered Rook to assist him.  It's a sign of how much respect my secretary commands when he can order Robert Greene to help him.  Myself, I rushed to fetch something for Eva to drink.  It's vital to keep fluid in a werewolf's system when you're racing against the clock to cure silver poisoning.

Thankfully, as annoyed as I get with him, Gerard keeps me well-stocked in whatever I may need, as I found plenty of Ice Mountain spring water in the refrigerator when I opened it.  Perfect.  Pouring a glass, I made my way back to the living room, where Croc automatically stepped aside, watching me carefully as I offered the water to Eva.  She frowned at me, still sweating, like there was some hidden trap in the drink she couldn't see, but at last, with a little help, she pushed herself up on her elbows and started to drink.

"Not too fast," I said, when she nearly choked.  "Take small sips at first.  You're going to need a lot of fluid but too much at once isn't going to do you any good."

"Why?" came the croak.

"Obviously you'd choke,  but you need to let the first few glasses or so get down.  Your body is so desperate to fight off the poisoning, the first few glasses will become absorbed almost immediately into your bloodstream, to try to flush out the poison.  After that, you'll need to keep drinking in order to keep fluid in your body, because your core temperature will spike to help your immune sys—"

"No." she murmured, waving me off in midsentence,  "Why are you helping me?"

I hadn't been expecting that, and before I could formulate a proper answer, Gerard tapped my shoulder.

"Sir, if you please, I'll go downstairs, to await Dr. Dorian's arrival." he said gently.  Rook appeared at his side and gave me a slow nod to indicate he was going to go with my secretary; my young friend still didn't quite trust Dorian.

"Ah'll go with ya.  Ah wanna see this 'Dorian' fella for mahself." Croc growled.

"You'll just try to eat me!" Rook cried indignantly, and Croc lunged, snapping his jaw shut a good foot and a half away from Rook's chest.  However, he did seem to get his point across.

"Ah got more important mattahs to worry about than teachin' ya mannahs right now." he said in a low growl.  And in moments, Eva and I were left alone in the room.

"So why?" she asked again, still sipping at the water.  I was astonished she was holding on this long.  I murmured a silent prayer for Dorian to reach us with speed before I answered; no telling how much time she had left before her condition was incurable.

"Thou art lycanthian," I replied, a tad hesitantly, unable to keep from slipping into broken Shakespearean, "The first other lycanthian I've ever met before in Gotham.  And call this presumptuous of me…but this makes thee pack."

She stared at me as though stunned, and then started to laugh.

"Seriously?" she said in a weak chuckle.

"I fail to see what thou hast found amusing in my declaration." I remarked.

"Geez, you're really new at the whole werewolf thing, aren't you, rich boy?" she laughed, coughing slightly.  "Calling me pack when we hardly know each other!  Besides, you grow up with the pack.  They're your family.  That's the way it's always been, with true wolves _and_ werewolves."

Well now, I'd not been expecting that.  Truth be told, I felt a little crushed.  Here I'd finally found another werewolf, someone to empathize with about my…monthly problem…only to be told that I was intruding, in a fashion.  All things considered, what she was saying made sense in a way.

But I still felt somewhat crushed by it.

She must have noticed, because I was silent for quite a time after that, and the quiet spoke volumes.  She set the glass down, looking at me skeptically, eyes still phasing between brown and yellow.  I didn't care to broach the subject of pack again, so instead I silently rose to my feet, took the glass and went back to the kitchen to refill it.  I was on my way back when she addressed me.

"Er…Lance?"

"Yes, Miss Eva?" I answered, a little heavily.

"…How did you become a werewolf, anyway, since you don't know about basic lycanthian knowledge?"

I cannot pretend that remark did not sting a bit.

"Not in either of the conventional ways that may come to your mind," I replied, "Nor is that a subject I'm willing to discuss at the moment, if you'll forgive me.  It brings back painful memories."

She stared at me for a long while, but clearly she respected me enough not to bring the subject up again.  For a time, all that occurred was her drinking water and me refilling her glass a number of times.  I felt like the wait was going to drive me mad; what was taking Dorian and Tygrus so long?  I knew they had their own ways of moving about Gotham City but still…

"The silence is bugging the crap out of me." Eva said at one point, somehow still collected and cool despite her high fever and poisoning.  I had to admire her for that; I doubt I would have been so laid back.

"Perhaps we could find something to discuss to ease your feeling?" I said warily, and when she gave me a consenting nod, I decided to try a subject that I'd been wondering at for a time.  "If I may be so bold…what is your relationship with Waylon Jones?"

At this, her face grew bright red, and I had a distinct feeling it wasn't from the fever.

"I…I'm not too sure." she said slowly, "I mean…It's been a little less than a year since I came to Gotham and we met.  If anything, we're friends at the moment…I don't know.  I'd like us to be more but he's got the hots for some chick orderly that works at Arkham."  She ended in a growl, her expression becoming murderous, and I felt somewhat sorry on behalf of this female orderly she spoke of.  Lord knows, I wouldn't want to see what Eva might do if she got her hands on the woman.

"What about you?" she asked abruptly.

"Wh-what about me?" I stuttered, taken aback.

"Normal by lycan standards or not," she said, managing a weak grin, "You've got to be considering mating by now.  I'm guessing you're about my age now.  25, right?  That's the normal time when lycans start seeking out a mate, you know."

Considering the events of yesterday and this morning, I truly found myself at a loss for words.  Surely my attraction to Miss Harker didn't stem entirely from a primal instinct…?  No, this had to be a morbid coincidence, if what Eva was saying was true.

"So there IS a girl!" she said, her eyes lighting up as she coughed a little more.

_What_?!  How had she figured that out?!

"How in the world did you…?"

"I have my ways, and you might learn them one day, when you figure out how to be a proper werewolf," she replied, expertly dodging the bullet, "So what's her name?"

"…Jeanette Harker." I answered, feeling somewhat embarrassed to be mentioning this again, especially to another woman.

"What's she do?"

"She's a librarian."

Eva winced, and I wasn't sure whether it was disapproval or pain from the poison.

"Is something wrong with librarians?" I asked innocently.

"Normally you'd pick a more…thrilling choice, were you raised in a pack.  Librarian seems rather tame." she said dryly.

I tried rather unsuccessfully to picture Miss Harker striking the Joker over his head with a book, but the fact remained the same.  Sometimes being a librarian was far from tame, especially in this city.

"Geez, you're touchy!" Eva said, making me jump, and I realized she must have taken my silence for disapproval again.  However, I'd barely begun to open my mouth when she held up a hand to forestall me.  "Look, I get that you're a little different…so for the time being, I'm not going to judge.  Have you talked to her?"

"I thought you had been suffering from silver poisoning." I couldn't keep the growl out of my voice completely.

"Still am, and it hurts like a bitch," she smirked, "Have you talked to her?"

"Not extensively, no.  But I did manage to talk her into having coffee with me on Wednesday.  I was truly hoping we could talk then…"

To my utter astonishment, this time Eva raised her eyebrows and gave me an approving nod.

"Not bad, not bad," she said, wheezing a little and taking another small sip of water, "Not bad at all."

"You wouldn't call such a get-together a 'date', would you?" I asked, thinking of Rook's earlier comment.

"Ha!  A date?  If you wanted a date, you should've asked out to dinner and the movies or something.  No, this is a strict getting-to-know-you kind of thing.  Why, did you think it counted as a date?" she gave me a rather queer look, and I shook my head immediately.

"Perish the thought!  I was telling the monochromatic friend of mine about it, and he said it counted as a date."

Eva went through another series of coughs, then pulled a face.  "What, does he _only_ think with his balls?"

"Sometimes I wonder…" I muttered, frowning a tad.  "If it's not his genitals he's thinking with, I daresay it's his firearms."

"Someone talking about me?" Rook's voice asked as he opened the door, admitting not only himself and Croc, but two other figures I knew well.  Eva pushed herself up to a sitting position again, wheezing a little as they made to surround her, and snarled at the sight of Tygrus.

Tygrus is the only other person in the world I consider a brother, though for different reasons than I do with Rook.  He's roughly seven feet tall with yellow cat eyes and silky gray-black fur that flows over his entire body like a dark waterfall, from muzzle to tail.  He's a man-panther, a genetic experiment of Dorian's to see if he could create the ultimate life-form from 'scratch', so to speak, and he has been like a brother to me since childhood.

"Calm yourself," I whispered, reaching out to put a hand on Eva's shoulder, which was tense and slick with sweat, "Tygrus won't hurt you."

"Smells like cat." she growled, eyes wide.

"You smell…like wolf…and silver." Tygrus said softly, his mouth taking time to form the words as his large black nose sniffed Eva.  He glanced at me, yellow eyes widening slightly in confusion, but he didn't pursue the question.

"What is this, then?" came a low, soothing English voice as a tall, redheaded older gentleman with a catlike face and a cane in the crook of his arm walked around the couch.  The words were like a balm on a burn; not because Dorian had arrived at last or was saying anything of spectacularly profound insight, but because his voice can silence an entire room.  I've never seen or even heard of anyone being able to interrupt Dorian when he speaks, as though nobody can bring themselves to do so.  His voice is simply far too enchanting to hear.

"I'll explain later, Professor, but right now Miss Eva requires your help.  Silver poisoning, and I've no idea how long—"

"Relax Lancelot, my boy," Dorian cut me off gently, placing a hand on my shoulder as he turned to look at Eva.  "Thankfully the poison hasn't gone too far.  You've done an excellent job keeping her hydrated, and I daresay you have quite the fighter's immune system, young lady."

Eva only watched him, relaxing back on the couch.  Tygrus handed something to Dorian and my mentor began to fill a small syringe with a vermillion liquid, his antidote for silver poisoning.

"However, I cannot pretend to promise that this treatment will work for you as it always had for Lancelot.  He's a special case in the realm of werewolves, and this antidote was designed with his genetic structure in mind.  You may already have permanent damaging in different areas of your body, you may not.  I'll administer this dosage to you, but I may need to bring you to my laboratory in the future, to follow up on how you're doing.  Perhaps at that point, I'll be able to develop a better cure." Dorian explained to Eva calmly, and she was watching him with wide eyes.  I clenched my fists on my knees, grinding my teeth.

Damn Dorian!  He _would_ look to gain advantage when he's helping someone!

"Stop bandying about, Dorian!  She could die if you don't treat her!" I blurted out, and Croc growled his agreement, only to be silenced by a hiss and a glare from Tygrus, whose tail coiled about Dorian protectively.

"And she could die later if she doesn't agree to let me work on a better cure for her," Dorian said, to Eva as much as to me, "You must be thinking ahead, Lancelot."  He turned back to Eva, and asked, "Are you willing to agree to those terms to save your life, Miss Eva?"

Her breathing had grown shallow again, and I was truly becoming frightened for her.  Her eyes were phasing faster than ever as she looked from Dorian, to Croc, to me, and back to Dorian again.  Finally, gritting her teeth, she gave the tiniest of nods.

"Just give me the damn shot." she growled.

"Ah don't like this—" Croc started.

"Be that as it may, my reptilian friend," Dorian spoke over him as he leaned forward and put the syringe in Eva's shoulder, depressing the plunger, "The choice was hers and not yours to make."

For a moment, Croc stared at him in astonishment, as though not believing the Englishman could have just cut him off, but then he began to lift his lip and growl again, irritated.  Tygrus was up in a flash, ears lying flat against his head as he gave a warning snarl, the fur on his hackles rising.

"Be at ease, Tygrus!" I said, jumping up from my seat and placing a hand on his soft shoulder.  "Now is not the time."

"But he—!" Tygrus protested.

"Lancelot makes a point, dear Tygrus." Dorian said, withdrawing the syringe.  Eva wrinkled her nose, then slowly her eyelids began to flutter as the sleep overtook her.  Color was already returning to her pallid face, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I knew she would be alright.

"Doesn't mattah." Croc growled, still scowling at the man-cat.  "Ya'll dancin' on a beehive."

"I find it fascinating you threaten me so," Dorian said as he stood, "Truly remarkable, like a genuine crocodile, and territorial too, if I might add.  Perhaps you wouldn't mind accompanying your lady friend on her visit to my laboratory?  I should like to…get to know you both better."

At this, Croc roared and lunged forward as he had with me, snapping his jaw shut inches from Dorian's face.  But Dorian was even less fazed than I; he merely smiled coldly, dark eyes narrowing.

"I'll take that as a 'yes', then." he said.  Croc snarled and huffed, turning and leaving the room, doubtless going back to his sewer tunnels for the time being.

"I don't like him…" Tygrus rumbled in his deep barrel-like chest.

"One wouldn't expect thee to." I said softly, stroking the fur on the back of Tygrus's neck to soothe him.

"Lancelot," Dorian spoke curtly, "While I realize you are most likely battling mixed emotions concerning my course of action in saving your new friend's life, I do expect a full explanation of these events later.  In the meantime, however, Tygrus and I must make haste and return to my refuge.  I spotted Batman overhead on our way here, and there's no telling what he may be thinking if he saw us.  I daresay I wouldn't like him to swoop down upon Tygrus as if he were one of these monstrous rogues of his."

"Of course, Dorian." I replied, following as he and Tygrus swept from the room.  "Rook, please keep an eye on Eva until I return."

"Oh, sure.  Give me the boring jobs." He muttered, going over to take a seat where he could better see Eva.

"Pleasant to see Mr. Greene is as charming as ever." Dorian muttered.

"Indeed." I answered.

"He also mentioned something about you going on a date the day after tomorrow?" he added in a much too-casual voice, and suddenly Tygrus was all ears, leaning in really close and making hissing snickers.  I huffed and walked a tad more dignified.

"Tis but a beginning of a courtship.  Robert is deluded.  I've only asked the woman to have coffee with me." I said icily, taking note to smack Rook's head against a wall later.

"Ah." Said Dorian.  "She must be a rather remarkable young lady to attract your attention, then.  I should like to hear more about this fair princess of yours when we see each other next, Lancelot."

So Dorian also thought I was oblivious to the opposite sex, did he?  Strangely, I was starting to pick up on a pattern…Still…

"Of course, Dorian."

He gave me an approving smile.  "Don't forget to give her flowers, Lancelot.  It's a good way to start opening a woman's heart to you."

"Thank you, sir.  Perhaps I could send flowers to her tomorrow…Oh!  But I have that meeting with Wayne!" I hissed and ground my teeth in frustration.  "Damn it all!"

"Why not make Robert deliver the flowers then?" Dorian suggested innocently.

By God, the man may be a manipulative bastard, but he was a genius!

"Not a bad idea, Dorian, considering Rook doesn't seem to believe that Miss Harker actually exists," I said, allowing myself a small smile.  "I think I'll have him do just that!"


	7. Womanizing Chess Pieces

[Jeanette's POV:]

It seemed so wrong that Tuesday was as bright and cheerful as it turned out to be.  It just wasn't right, not for Gotham City.

Needless to say, I was feeling a little paranoid.  Jesse and his twisted mystic friend had left me Sunday night, and the next morning I'd had to come up with a good excuse for my behavior that day to feed to Chantelle, who hadn't been too pleased that I'd stormed out, mid-shift, because of Lancelot Pendragon.  She'd kept on me yesterday while I worked Heidi's shift, practically breathing down my back as though daring me to walk out again, and the way this morning was shaping up, I thought it was going to be highly likely she'd continue with this method of intimidation.  And the fact that Heidi and the other girls kept looking at me with expressions that said I'd brought this on myself wasn't helping in the least.  Truth to tell, I wasn't just paranoid that Tuesday.  I was getting extremely annoyed, and wanted nothing more than to grab another hardback and hit somebody else over the head with it.

I was busy sorting the requested holds when my opportunity to do so arrived in the front door.  I had a stack of materials in my arms for a Gabrielle Lanyon when I heard Marcia make an appreciative noise and the other girls began to murmur and giggle amongst themselves.  Rolling my eyes, I set to work shelving the materials, as such noises from the girls usually indicates a male patron arriving that they find attractive.  It was of no interest to me.  At least, not until I heard my name come up.

"Yyyeah, I'm looking for a Jeanette Harker.  Any of you lovely ladies happen to be her?" I heard a man drawl.

Oh.  Hell.  No.

Slowly I turned around, setting the rest of the materials down on the counter, gritting my teeth as I adjusted my glasses.

The speaker was a young man—perhaps a few years younger than myself—with black and white hair and clothing, done up in a checker pattern.  Even his face had been painted with some sort of make-up in the same pattern, making his gray eyes stand out, and he swaggered and grinned like a bizarre, monochromatic peacock with his hands behind his back.  The last thing I wanted was for him to talk to me, but when on the job, I've got no choice.

"Who wants to know?" I demanded, placing my hands on my hips.  He stopped short, blinking at me like he couldn't really believe I was there, and tilted his head to the side like a bird before grinning again.

"Could be me.  Could be my friend." he answered, clicking his tongue and running it over his lips.  A sudden urge to take a stapler to his mouth came to mind, and I had to fight it down before I answered.

"Perhaps you might get a proper answer when you tell me who you are and what you're doing here." the words slipped from my mouth with a wonderful touch of irritation, but he didn't seem too fazed as he winked at some of my coworkers.

"Call me Rook, everyone does." He purred, waggling his eyebrows at me, "But see, I got a problem with your terms.  I've got a mission to carry out, and I can only do it if I find Miss Jeanette Harker."

This was getting nowhere.

_Oh, just give him what he wants and maybe he'll shut up and leave sooner!_ I thought in annoyance as I crossed my arms and scowled at him.

"One might suppose you'd count yourself in luck then, Mr…Rook, was it?  I am Jeanette Harker." I said as calmly as I could.  His eyes widened slightly, and his grin got wider as he whipped a beautiful bouquet out from behind his back.

_Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me…_

"I've been asked to deliver these to you, Miss Harker!" he said proudly.

_That's a relief!  Talk about a close call!_

"Oh, th-thank you," I stammered, a little stunned that anyone would send _me_ flowers.  "Wh-who—"

"My best friend, Lance Pendragon!  He would have brought them himself but he's in the middle of a business meeting right now, so he asked me to!"

Long dark hair and intense green eyes came to mind, and I gritted my teeth harder.   _Him again?_

"And did Mr. Pendragon mention what the occasion was for sending me flowers…?" I ground out between clenched teeth.

"He mentioned you might say something like that," Rook took a step back, rubbed his temples, and cleared his throat.  "He said if you did, to tell you that any woman as lovely as you needs no occasion for receiving flowers."

My heart gave a tiny flutter and I found myself, for once, at a loss for words.

_The man is deluded,_ I told myself at once, _thinking I'm attractive!  And he picks the worst sort of person to deliver flowers!_

_Still…no one's ever sent me flowers before._

"Do you like them?" Rook asked, trying this time for a genuine smile.  It made him look a lot younger, like a grade-schooler.  I turned and took a look: jasmine with lilies and baby's breath.  I'm not one of those women who's good at reading the whole messages-in-the-flowers thing, and if my guess was right, Mr. Pendragon wasn't the sort of man who worried or cared about "flower messages" beyond trying to flatter me.  Maybe I would look that up later.

"They're nice," I answered him, sighing and setting the flowers off to the side.

"So is it true that you and Lancey-pants have a date tomorrow?" Rook asked, leaning in all of a sudden with a nasty grin on his face, and I had to resist the urge to heave up my breakfast; he smelled strongly of alcohol.

"It's not a date," I answered irritably, furious that he'd reminded me of it.  "Mr. Pendragon and I are just going to share some coffee and talk, as he seems so insistent on getting to know me!"

"Your face is bright red." He stated nonchalantly.

How in the Lord's blessed name did this man walk around this city and NOT get slapped in his face on a regular basis?

"My face is NOT red!" I protested, feeling heat rise in my cheeks.

"Sure, sure. Of course it isn't," he chuckled, waving me off.  Then, he seemed to grow serious as he narrowed his eyes at me and asked, "So, is it true?  Did you really do something as stupid and suicidal as bashing Joker over the head with a book?  If so, I've just got to tell you, you're the most awesome bookworm ever!"

I know he meant it to be a good thing, a compliment of sorts.

Didn't stop me from sending him off with a paperweight to the head and a kick in the rear.


	8. Coffee And Courtship

[Jeanette's POV:]

After the disastrous occurrence of the previous day, I'd hoped that I could get to my shift and just forget about my eleven o'clock appointment.  As it turned out, Heidi and the other girls had a different scheme in mind.  I'd no sooner walked in the door than Marcia was appraising my choice of wardrobe.

"Jay, don't you think that's a little…bland?" she asked timidly.

"Bland?" I repeated, arching an eyebrow as I walked behind the Check-Out and Return counters.

"Well, she could make it work if she puts on a little make-up…" I heard Leslie remark thoughtfully.  I set my purse down and turned to face them, squaring my jaw, my arms crossing on their own.

"What in the world are you two going on about?" I asked evenly.

"Oh, you know!" Heidi giggled, coming over to join them, a coffee thermos in hand.  "Your lunch date with the gorgeous Lancelot Pendragon!"

"It's not a date." I said firmly.  "We are just going to have a quick cup of coffee and he's going to apologize for offending me the other day."

"Yeah, and he's going to apologize by inviting you to go out on his yacht for the weekend!" Leslie waggled her eyebrows at me, a disgusting and somewhat male-typical trait that didn't work on her.

"I very much doubt that Mr. Pendragon owns a yacht, and even if he did, I'm quite sure he wouldn't invite me to go on it." I groaned and rubbed my temples, feeling a headache already setting in.  What had I done to deserve this?

"So what did the flowers yesterday mean, huh?" Marcia said pointedly.

To be honest, I still wasn't quite sure.  I'd taken them home, put them in a vase with water, and set them out on the counter and puzzled over it for a while.  Giving flowers to a woman you barely knew sent out, in my opinion, wrong or skewed signals.  It was a gesture of courtship, and one typically implemented after at least a fair number of meetings between the man and woman.  Mr. Pendragon and I had only met once, and the gesture seemed almost presumptuous of him, as though he expected that I acknowledged a courtship initiated.

Which of course, I didn't.

Still, if he'd meant it to be a further apology and just a kind reminder that I'd lost enough of my sanity to agree to this…this not-date, then it was perfectly acceptable.

Much to my astonishment, Chantelle appeared like a ghost nearby.  "What is going on here, ladies?"

"Nothing…" a couple of us replied, myself included.

"Trying to give Jeanette advice for her coffee with Mr. Pendragon this afternoon." Heidi said mischievously.

"This afternoon?" Chantelle demanded, turning the full-force of her glare on me.  I could tell she still wasn't forgiving me for storming out the other day.

"It happened after I walked out the other day.  Mr. Pendragon accosted me in the parking lot and insisted I join him for coffee at eleven today.  He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer." I explained.

I'd half-hoped she would tell me I couldn't go, give me an excuse to call the whole thing off, but Chantelle's expression lit up and she suddenly smiled.  Clearly the man had left a rather powerful impression on her.

"Oh, I see.  Well, I suppose you're a lucky one, Jeanette." she said.

_What…?_

_WHAT?!_

"Mr. Pendragon is a rather handsome man, isn't he?" Chantelle mused, "You'll have to tell him the staff said hello to him when you meet up today."

I suppressed a shriek of anger and nodded stiffly, turning my back on the lot of them under the pretense of clocking in.

They were conspiring against me, all of them!

***

Eleven o'clock came much sooner than I'd expected, and I was standing outside my Starbucks, totally unprepared for whatever would occur.  Despite my earlier desire to get out of this arrangement, I still caught myself glancing at my watch every thirty seconds or so as I watched the parking lot, waiting for Lancelot Pendragon to appear.  What was more, I felt the need to turn and examine my hair in the window, as though he might somehow find it displeasing.

_You're worrying too much, Jeanette!_ I snapped at myself, and with that reasoning, I managed to retain my dignity.

For all of two minutes.

Finally I couldn't stand it any longer, and I turned, squinting at my reflection in the window, fussing with my high ponytail.  Why couldn't it lay the way I wanted it to?

"I find the natural lay of your locks rather appealing in its unattended state, if I may be so bold."

I stood up straight immediately, freezing at the sight of the reflection behind me in the window, and I spun on my heel to regard Lancelot Pendragon.  Good lord, but he was still just as stunning as before!

"I wasn't aware I'd asked for your opinion, Mr. Pendragon." I said calmly.

"You didn't." he replied truthfully.

A lengthy and awkward silence stretched between us until he reached out and opened the door to the café behind me, gesturing inward.

"After you, milady." he murmured quietly, green eyes staring at me.

Well, whatever misgivings I was harboring about the man, I simply couldn't deny the fact that he'd been raised a proper gentleman, and I smiled in approval as I stepped forward into the café.  He followed at a quick pace, as though worried I might slip away if he let me get too far ahead.  Bradley was at the counter and waiting when we stepped in, and his eyes widened as he took us in, obviously surprised.

"Er…how can I help you, Mr. Pendragon, Miss Harker?" he asked, giving me the impression that the second he got his fingers on his cell phone he'd be text messaging everyone he knew to gossip.

"A venti mocha hazelnut latte if you please, Bradley." I answered with a sigh.

He tapped a few keys on his register before turning to Lancelot Pendragon.  "And for you, sir?"

"I'll have the same.  Oh, and I'll be picking up the tab, Bradley."

I spun, about to object, but he pressed two fingers against my lips and shook his head.

"No, don't start, Miss Harker.  I told you this was going to be my treat, and I cannot very well hold up to that promise if you insist on paying for your own."

"And the rich wonder why common people get frustrated when you just toss your money around." I muttered.

"You assume I fall under the umbrella of rich stereotypes, Miss Harker."

"You aren't providing me a great deal of evidence to the contrary, Mr. Pendragon."

At this, he smiled and inclined his head, thrusting a twenty at Bradley.  "Touché, milady."

"Uh, right.  I'll have those right out to you, then." Bradley murmured, quickly turning to start preparing the lattes. There was silence for a few moments, and I started to feel uncomfortable.  I didn't know what sort of conversation to start with Mr. Pendragon, but before I could open my mouth in the attempt, he saved me the trouble.

"What sort of books do you enjoy, Miss Harker?"

I wasn't about to just give him all the information he might have wanted, so I couldn't help but try to counter with another question.  "What makes you assume that I enjoy books of any sort, Mr. Pendragon?"

"Your place of employment is a library, sweet woman.  One can usually count on a woman becoming a librarian for one of two reasons.  Either she can find no other employment and is desperate enough to settle for such a career, or she must, to some degree, be a bibliophile." he answered, arching an eyebrow.

Ah, he wasn't just a pretty rich boy without half a brain after all.

"A very astute deduction, sir." I commented, offering him a half-smile.

A corner of his mouth quirked upward and he inclined his head.  "Thou art possessed of a flattering tongue, yet thou wouldst make an insistence of avoiding a question asked."

"Ah…why are you so curious in regards to my reading preferences?"

"You are unlike most other women I've encountered, Miss Harker.  I would know you better."

My face grew quite hot, and I averted my gaze, only to find Bradley frozen in the act of setting down our coffee, watching us with wide eyes.  My irritation bubbled to the surface again and I snatched my coffee, spun on my heel, and turned to the condiment stand, barely maintaining my conduct.  Setting my latte down, I pulled the lid off and proceeded to add a little extra half and half.  I was just pausing in the act of grabbing a sugar packet, when I remembered why I rarely added my own sugar.  It must have caught Pendragon's attention, because he was suddenly behind me, asking what was wrong.

"It's just that I can never seem to add the right amount of sugar," I replied.  "Either it turns out to be too much or too little."

"If I may make a recommendation, try three sugars." he said calmly, adding to his own latte.  "I find, when teaspoons are unavailable for measuring with, three packets of sugar always does the trick for me."

"Always three?" I challenged, raising my eyebrows at him.

"Always." he answered, the other corner of his mouth turning up to match as he stirred his drink.  Now that I was able to get a good look at him, he was rather charming when he smiled.  It made him look far less forbidding and distant.  I pulled three sugars from the stand and added them to my latte, stirring as we turned and walked to an unoccupied table.  He pulled out a chair for me, which was surprising.  I'd figured out that he was polite to an extreme rarely seen in this day and age, but he continued to act more and more the gentleman.

I liked it.

Nodding my thanks, I settled into the chair, took my stirring stick out and replaced the lid on my latte, taking a wary sip.  To my utter surprise, it was wonderful!

"Mm!" I nearly shrieked, "You're right!  It's perfect!  How did you know that?"

His lips curled slowly upward in a stunning smile as he considered me, and I chided myself for paying attention to his mouth of all things, because I almost missed his answer in the process.

"Hmm…that's a secret, Miss Harker."

"Oh?"

"And speaking of secrets, I'm keen on knowing a few of yours.  Starting with my initial question."

Well, I certainly had to give him brownie points for persistence!

"My secrets, huh?" I chuckled, taking another sip of the latte.

"Yes.  So.  If thou art willing, 'twould please mine ears to be graced with a response forthcoming." He studied me carefully over the rim of his cup.

"Well, clearly you're a reader of Shakespeare." I began, arching an eyebrow at him again, and when he nodded, I felt a tad more bold.  "I do admire his work extensively.  Typically my fare tends to lean more in the direction of Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe, the Brontë sisters, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Alexandre Dumas, Louisa May Alcott, Oscar Wilde, Mary Shelley…"

Suddenly I realized I'd begun ranting and I cut myself off and ducked my head, feeling my face grow hot again.  But to my surprise, he only chuckled good-naturedly.

"The classics," he remarked, "I thought so!  And I am not at all surprised that you mentioned Jane Austen first.  Your manner and bearing are both among the many traits you share with her heroines."

"You had me pegged for an Austen reader, did you?" I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted, so I merely sipped at my latte again.

"Call it…instinct." he answered, leaning back in his chair.  "I admire a woman who reads Austen."

Well now.  That remark certainly made me feel like I was standing in a very large spotlight.   _What in the world does he mean, talking to me like that?_

"And while we're on such topics, Miss Harker, what do you think of Austen's view of a relationship between a man and a woman?  In the area of courtship in particular." 

Oh, now it was getting to a place that made me really uncomfortable.

"Mr. Pendragon, I'm not sure—" I started, moving to vacate my chair, but faster than my eyes could follow, he reached out, gently placed a hand over mine and gave me a pleading look with his green eyes.

"Please, I meant not to offend thee.  I merely wished to know your thoughts.  I still do, if you are willing to bestow them to me.  If not, say the word and I will withdraw my query."

My heart started hammering against my ribcage as lines of electric fire began to tingle along my hand and up my arm, and I lowered myself back into the seat without thinking.  "No, I just…I wasn't expecting a question like that." I said slowly, and when he only continued to watch me as though he was worrying I would bolt again, I proceeded to answer, "I believe Austen lays out some very important ideas about courtship that have been abandoned and forgotten in this day and age.  She says it without really saying it.  A courtship plays upon the idea that women are supposed to be beautiful, yet mysterious.  A woman is supposed to have secrets…and a man looking to discover what those secrets are must court her.  He has to be willing to initiate a pursuit, and still be considerate and courteous.  He must show her he is a gentleman, and make it known that he pursues her secrets, lightly.  He is not prying in such a way that she might find it offensive, but will instead, bit by bit, indulge his curiosity without giving so much away that he loses interest in the chase.  That, according to Jane Austen, is the proper means of initiating and executing courtship."

I exhaled, feeling flushed and slightly worn from my speech.  I hoped it would satisfy him, but that was only my interpretation of Austen's themes.  Who knew how anyone would respond to that, let alone Lancelot Pendragon?

"I think your assessment is right on the mark, Miss Harker, and I agree with it most strongly."

_Well, I wasn't entirely expecting that, but I guess it's not too surprising._

"If that's the case, Mr. Pendragon, would you explain to me the flowers you sent me the other day?" I challenged.  "Flowers after one meeting?  One might say typically that would imply you wish to court me."

"I can see you read me as easily as you do your books," he replied smoothly, squeezing my hand in an extremely familiar manner, "And you are quite right, Miss Harker.  I wish to court you, if you would allow it."

"What?!" I blurted out, withdrawing my hand at once, nearly spilling my coffee.  "You what?!"

"Miss Harker, if I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." he pleaded.

"I-I-I won't be w-won over with Shakespeare quotes, M-Mr. P-Pendragon!" I stammered, flustered.

"I mean what I said," he insisted.  "I wish to court you, if you would allow it."

I couldn't find an answer for that.  He was handsome, and a gentleman, and clearly well-read, but…still…

_Dear lord, I've lost my mind.  First I attack the Joker and Colonel Rojas and now I cannot bring myself to allow an attractive man showing interest in_ me _to pursue a courtship!_ I thought, my head spinning.

_Darn it, Jeanette Marie Harker!_ my stubborn voice snapped back at that thought, _For once in your life, do something that's right and won't make you a total loss in the area of dating!_

"Well…Mr. Pendragon—"

"Please.  Call me Lancelot." he said gently, brushing his lips against my knuckles.  It was abruptly far more difficult to breathe, and for a moment I had to focus on inhaling deeply before I responded.

"Lancelot…" I started slowly, "I do hope you realize that I intend to keep this courtship as close as possible to what we've discussed."

"I would have it no other way," he said quickly, "May I assume then, that you agree to my request to court you?"

"Yes…I just…I find it most shocking to think that any man should take an interest in me in that manner." I murmured.

"I don't see why you'd think that." he said.  "I find you irresistibly captivating."

Unable to think of a response, I stirred my latte, gently rotating my list and staring at the surface of the table.  An awkward silence stretched between us, and Lancelot leaned back in his chair again, adjusting his collar as he watched me.  I was still reeling from what he'd said, when he asked me a question.

"Sorry?" I said, looking back up at him again.  "What did you say?"

"I was just asking if there were any other books besides classical literature that you enjoy." he said gently.

"Oh, plenty.  I do tend to read a lot of fantasy, fairy tales, historical fiction…mystery in particular."

"Romance?"

"Not anything new.  Most recent authors seem to confuse the category of romance with that of smut.  I detest such trashy writing."

"Thank heavens.  We might have had a problem if you'd said anything to the contrary."

"Oh, would we now?"

"What are you reading currently, if I may ask?"

I thought back to what I'd left lying in the passenger side seat of my car.  The pile had grown a little since he'd last followed me and asked me to join him for coffee.

"The Lost Symbol, by Dan Brown…The Fires of Heaven, by Robert Jordan…The Mists of Avalon, by Marion Zimmer Bradley…Oh!  And Cry Wolf, by Patricia Briggs!"

He'd been taking another sip of his latte when he paused, green eyes flicking up at me so fast I felt my heart skip a beat.  He lowered his cup slowly, eyebrows raising.

"Cry Wolf, you say?" he asked.  Something about his voice had changed, and I half-wondered if that was disapproval I was hearing.

"Urban fantasy," I clarified, wondering if he'd not heard of it, "Focused mostly on werewolves."

I knew it was stupid to tell anyone about what I read, but his eyebrows raised higher and his voice became frigid, making me feel more a fool than ever I had before in my entire life.

"Werewolves." he declared simply.

"Yes, werewolves," I answered, "Is there something wrong with the subject matter?"

"Urban legend," he stated before I even finished speaking, "One that circulated through Europe and America for centuries before finally becoming glorified by the modern-day society of the States.  Used to be werewolves were considered no better than witches, back during the time of the Salem and witch-burning; enormous, flesh-eating men cursed by the changing face of the moon.  Now, they're considered the mortal enemies of vampires, can transform at will, and live like _pimps_ —" he spat the word out like it was dirt in his mouth, "—making love to whomever they wish with no one any the wiser.  People like Patricia Briggs only further this thought.  It's ridiculous."

"You seem rather opinionated on the topic, Lancelot." I remarked.  This was certainly different; I hadn't expected to push the right button and get this side of him revealed so soon.

"…I detest the circulation of any sort of urban legend." he declared.

"And why is that, pray tell?" I asked, leaning forward.

"There is no solid evidence to prove any of them actually occurred," he said coldly, "Look at some of the urban legends concerning gruesome death.  For instance that of Bloody Mary.  What proof is there that she's nothing more than the addle-brained concoction of adolescents taking drugs and attempting to frighten their peers?"

"The legend of Bloody Mary isn't the same as those of werewolves." I shot back.  "True, there may be no proof to most urban legends, but you might as well say that all fiction is detestable, simply because it's easier to prove it didn't happen than whether it might have or will."

"Written fiction is one thing," he answered, "Urban legends that are passed on by word of mouth, only growing more twisted and warped and fantastic with each retelling in an attempt to frighten those hearing them and develop a sense of paranoia?  I despise them."

"Well then," I huffed, astonished at this change in his manner, "One can easily conclude you were the only boy at summer camp who had no tolerance for listening to ghost stories at the fire."

"I never went to summer camp." he said briskly.

"That would explain it." I chuckled.  Frankly, given what I'd seen of him, I would have been in shock if he said he had gone to summer camp as a child.  He merely smiled again, his warm personality back in place once more.

"I should like to see you sometime again soon, Miss Harker."

"Please, call me Jeanette…Lance."

"Very well then.  Would an actual lunch sometime this weekend be feasible with you, Jeanette?"

I smirked, pretending to pull out my planner and flip through it.  "Hmm…I'm not sure…"

"Friday, perhaps?" he suggested.

"Hmm, no.  What about Sunday?" I answered, feeling like being difficult.

"Too long of a wait.  Saturday, then?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know…" I said coyly.

"If Sunday's the only day that can work for you," he said gently, leaning back again, "Then I can make that work and I'll deal with the wait."

"Excellent," I said, trying not to sound too pleased, "Sunday it is, then."

"And what would be the establishment we choose to dine at?  Do you have a preference?" he asked, pulling a palm pilot out of his breast pocket and tapping at it with a stylus.

"I like Italian." I answered, shrugging.

"A wonderful choice." he offered me another of those dazzling smiles, and my stomach began flopping.  I tried to look in another direction, worried I was making myself look too much the schoolgirl, when I saw the gray sky outside and grimaced.

"What is the matter, Jeanette?" he asked.

"Oh, it's raining." I answered.  "Raining, perfectly good weather for a book, and I have to go back to work."

"Detestable," he nodded, sniffing.  "And speaking of such, I won't be keeping you much longer.  Doubtless you need to get back to the library, and I won't have you getting in trouble on my behalf."

"I'm not sure how much trouble I would get in," I sighed, "The girls were practically begging that I say "hello" to you from them.  They were under the impression I was 'finally going on a date' and needed to barrage me with advice all morning."

"Ah." he said uncomfortably.

We stood and started to head out of the café, and to my surprise, before we got out in the rain, something heavy draped across my shoulders.  I glanced up in surprise and saw him smiling at me.

"Take my coat, sweet Jeanette," he said gently, "I would despise myself ever after were I coarse enough not to offer thee shelter from the offending rain."

"But Mr. Pendragon—!"

"Lancelot," he corrected me, "And I would insist.  Worry not, I have others.  Keep it, if you please.  It would make me happy."

Swallowing, I stepped toward my Neon, pulling out my key ring, and he stood by the driver side door, ready to open it for me.

"Your coach awaits, milady," he said in a voice he was clearly forcing himself to keep serious.

"You don't have to do that, you know," I muttered, sliding inside and situating myself.  He offered me another smile, then his eyes slipped to my passenger seat and narrowed.  I glanced over, and realized he was looking at my copy of 'Cry Wolf.'

"It's not as bad as you think, Lancelot." I said defensively.  Those green eyes slipped back to me, and softened.

"Please, Miss Harker," he said in a sad voice, "Do us both a favor, and do not read that."

"It's Jeanette," I corrected, "And I read what I wish."

He looked crushed, but nodded and sighed.  "Of course, milady.  Thou art possessed of a strong will, and I am but powerless to convince thee otherwise.  But please keep within mind it would please me greatly were you to set aside that novel in particular."

"I'll bear that in mind, but I make no promises to cease, Lance."

"As you wish, Jeanette.  I bid thee farewell."

And with that, he shut my car door and stood watching me as I drove off, remaining where he was long after he disappeared from sight of my rearview mirror.


	9. Dorian's Summons

[Lance's POV:]

My moods had been mixed ever since the coffee.

On one hand, I would experience moments of giddy delight and the daydreams of a hopeless romantic at the thought of Miss Harker agreeing to let me court her.

But shortly afterwards my thoughts always seemed to return to the novel she said she was reading, and my mood would darken.  I'd meant what I'd said about my opinions on most modern literature concerning werewolves.  Much of it was so misleading that the media and people such as Meyer-somebody had come to glamorize something that would just as soon kill them all, given the chance.  I of course, would never stoop to murdering humans and I refuse to take a life unless someone I love is at risk.  But as for the born lycanthians such as Miss Eva…well, I cannot speak for them.  I trust Miss Eva, but I still am wary at times.

Simply out of a sheer desire to see what in the world the writing of Patricia Briggs was filling Miss Harker's head with, I had sent out for a copy after returning home from the coffee, and waited for Gerard to arrive any moment with the paperback and set it on my desk.  In the meantime, I was half-heartedly nibbling at a bagel as I looked over a business proposition from a Malik Knowles, wondering why in the world he was just now choosing to reach out to me.  I'd sent him an invitation to consider becoming partners almost six months prior, but he was only now responding.  Part of me riled at that, but I managed to keep my temper in check.  After all, he probably received several such propositions a year and got to them each in turn.

I was double-checking the e-mail, trying to find any possible loopholes that would give Knowles the advantage, when I heard the soft sound of footsteps on the carpet outside the office, drawing ever closer to the door.  Fabric, barely making a sound, rustled as an arm raised.

"Enter!" I nearly barked the word, and there was a hesitation, which caught my interest.  Had it been Gerard, he wouldn't have missed a beat.  After all, he's been working for me long enough he knows how well I hear things. A moment later the door swung inward to admit a familiar checker-faced visage.

"You were actually planning on knocking?" I asked, startled, nearly letting my bagel hit the floor.

"Very funny…" Rook growled, staggering toward my desk, making me nearly crush the keyboard beneath my fingers.

"Robert, if you are drunk again—" I started to warn him, falling short when I looked closer.  There were dark rings under his eyes, which looked wild and somewhat frightened, his breath wheezed painfully each time he inhaled, his hands were shaking violently, unable to get a solid grip on either of his guns, his canine teeth had elongated into sharp fangs, and though his face was still in its usual paint, I could see his neck had gone very pale.

"Robert," I asked warily, "Have you taken your pills?"

"Yeah…Last night.  Shouldn't have worn off so soon…" he murmured.  "Not even been twelve hours, right…?"

"When did you turn in last night?"

"Ten."

I glanced at the clock on my computer screen, then shook my head.  "8:24."

"Shit." he murmured, collapsing onto one of the chairs.  He tried clasping his hands in his lap, but they were shaking too much even for that and he resorted to gripping his knees.  It only made his tremors look all the worse.  "You still have my back-up supply, right?"

I nodded again, opening the hidden drawer in my desk and drawing out a plain plastic bottle that I passed to him.  He took it with a grateful expression, then uncapped it and jammed four of the tablets into his mouth, shocking me.

"Robert!  You know you're only supposed to take two, twice a day!"

"Effects have been wearing off sooner and sooner," he murmured after a tremendous gulp, still wheezing.

"You can't possibly tell me you're becoming immune to the tablets—"

"I think so…"

"…Robert, that's dangerous.  And increasing the number you take at a time is only going to make matters worse."

"What do you want me to do?!" he snapped, the outer rings of his gray eyes starting to go red.  "I've got no other way of keeping it under control without hurting people!  Some of us aren't natural one-with-The-Force, zen-guzzling, inner-peace hippies, rich boy!"

I merely stared at him long and hard, refusing to blink, and leaned back in my chair, resting my elbows on its arms and steepling my fingers as I waited.  He was still breathing hard, but within seconds the red glow receded from his eyes and he calmed down, his expression slowly leaving anger and moving into ashamed disbelief.

"I…I…Lance, I'm sorry." he murmured, getting to his feet.  "I didn't mean it."

"Codswallop, Robert.  You meant every word of it."

He faltered, then hung his head.  "I'm sorry."

"Quite alright." said I, waving a hand.  "I've already forgiven you.  But I think if your problem is becoming so serious that you're going to resort to using four tablets at a time, we need to contact Dorian.  You will exhaust your supply in under a month at that rate, so we need the dosage increased."

Rook chuckled dryly.  "The guy makes panther-men from test tubes, tames werewolves, finds blood substitutes for vampires…what's he going to do next, inter-species breeding?"

I shot him a grim frown, pausing in mid-motion of dialing Dorian's phone.  "Don't even joke about that, Robert.  Knowing Emile Dorian, were he to hear those words slip from thy mouth, more likely as not, he would employ thy suggestion.  Don't ever make light jokes about that man."

The phone answered on the second ring, a cool British voice surrounding me with melodious, hypnotic tones.

"Ahh, Lancelot my boy!  Wonderful to hear from you!  I was wondering when you were going to call."

"Questions about my rendezvous with Miss Harker yesterday can wait, Dorian." I responded a tad curtly.  "Right now I have more pressing matters to discuss with you."

"Oh?  Do tell."

"Robert is beginning to grow immune to the effects of your plasma pills."

"Ahh, yes.  I was wondering when that would occur."

I bristled, the hair on the back of my neck starting to rise in fury.  "You what?  You _knew_ this would happen?!"

"Of course I knew." he answered calmly.  "I had to begin with a lower plasma level, to ensure that Robert wouldn't suffer any ill effects during the adjustment his body had to make.  It was only a matter of time until he started to become immune and need a higher dosage of the pills."

I struggled for a moment, trying to keep from crushing the phone in my hand.  "Then what exactly do you propose we do, sir?" I growled out the last word.

"You're going to have to bring Robert here for me to examine him further, of course." came the level response.  "Otherwise, heavens knows how in the world I'm going to know the proper adjustment to make to the medicine."

He had a point, Hell take him.  "Very well," I replied, "I'll arrange with Gerard to ready the jet and we'll fly him out there."

"Just a moment there, Lancelot," Dorian forestalled me, "I do have a condition for this."

Of course.  There's always a catch.

"I would prefer you at least bring Miss Eva along, if not her scaly friend as well."

"There art no manner with which thee can induce me to drag along Waylon Jones, Dorian." I growled.

"I didn't think to delusion myself that there was, Lancelot." he replied smoothly.  "But you must bring Miss Eva along as well.  For her own sake as much as Robert's."

The line clicked and went dead, and I shut the phone off, my mind darting from Eva, resting and recovering in one of the penthouse rooms, to Rook, standing before me with a haunted look on his face.

There was _always_ a catch with Dorian, damn him.

"Well?" Rook asked worriedly.

"He'll do it, but we have to bring Eva with us." I answered heavily.

"…Always something, isn't there?" he muttered.

"Always." I replied.  I turned to the intercom, about to page Gerard to make arrangements for the trip to the island.  I tried to tell myself that I was doing the right thing, that this was supposed to help both of my friends in the long run, but I only felt a sense of impending doom hanging about my person as I did so, and it told me I was about to make things severely worse for us all…


	10. The Halls Of Arkham

[Jeanette's POV:]

Friday dawned, dark, gloomy, and covered in a steady shower of rain.  Soft thunder outside the window had woken me first, followed by the screech of my alarm clock, belting out, " _We'll make you hap-pyyyyy_!"  This time I slapped the flat of my palm down on the blasted thing without looking and fumbled around for my glasses.  I wasn't, however, totally ready to get out of bed just yet.

I still found it hard to believe that I'd even agreed to let Mr. Pendragon court me, and it seemed surreal somehow, both terrifying and exciting all at once.  I let this strange, exhilarating feeling consume me and I began going through the motions in this, my day off, with no real sense of time or awareness for what I was doing.  I could only vaguely recall taking a shower and dressing in very casual, house-only clothes, I had no idea what I ate for breakfast, if indeed, I did eat, and it wasn't until I had curled up in a fleece throw on my couch to think some more about this courtship that I realized I was well on my way to becoming obsessed.

_What in the world has he done to me?_ I thought in shock, on my way to becoming angry both with Mr. Pendragon for consuming my thoughts and with myself for allowing my mind to be consumed.  Growing irritated, I jumped off the couch just long enough to snatch up my copy of "The Fires Of Heaven."  (I absolutely refused to touch "The Mists of Avalon," or anything Arthurian in nature, as I'd most likely dwell on the matter of courtship further.)  Hopefully, catching up on my reading would take my mind off of other things for a while.

Sometime later, I'm not entirely sure how much later, there came a knock at my door.  Snapped out of my visions of Robert Jordan's world, I marked my page, set the book down, and got to my feet.  The knock came again, and I strode to the door, keeping the throw tightly wrapped around me.  I started to reach for the doorknob, then hesitated, a wave of paranoia washing over me.  Clenching my jaw, I chanced a look out of the peephole, then gave a sigh of relief and opened the door.

"H-hi J-Jean…W-wouldna have a moment t' spare for your little cous, wouldja?"

Of my cousins, Catriona happens to be the youngest, but you wouldn't know that by looking at her.  Her confident posture and walk coupled with her gorgeous face often get her mistaken for a 22-year-old, and most people are shocked to learn she's only 16.  As always, she had her violently red hair spiked up, all her piercings in, and was dressed in her usual attire of dark gray shorts, halter top, thigh-high combat boots, and her trailing long trenchcoat.

But something in her nervous expression shattered that usually confident appearance.

"Of course!  Get inside, you little hot-headed goat!  You're going to get sick out there in that rain." I griped, pulling her in by the elbow.  She gave me a weak smile in response.

"Neh, you know I donna get sick.  Cold doesna bother me." she chuckled half-heartedly, and I paused, unable to find words to say.  After all, special 'gifts' ran rampant in the Macallister blood, and where her older brother Jesse had his magic, Catriona had…well…

I watched carefully as she hugged her arms, as though about to rub warmth back into them, but instead, steam started to rise off her trenchcoat.  Within moments, there wasn't a sign to be found anywhere that Cat had been outside in the rain.  She gave me a smug look, and I had to bite my tongue.

"Why are you here, Cat?  What's going on?  Do come in, sit.  I'll get you something to drink." I said, but she shook her head slowly.

"Huh-uh.  I need yer help, Jeannie." she replied.  "It's about Jesse."

I paused, my senses going on high alert.  "Jesse?  What's wrong?  Is he in some kind of trouble?"

Catriona bit her lip and cast her eyes down, fidgeting.  She does this whenever she feels especially reluctant or nervous about something, and has been this way since she was little.  Thankfully, I knew full well how to handle it.

"Cat, if your brother is in trouble, you need to tell me.  If you want to help him, being quiet gets us all nowhere." I tried to be gentle but firm as well, so she could fully grasp how serious I was, and her soft brown eyes darted upward.

"Jesse's in Arkham." she mumbled it so fast and low that if I hadn't seen the corner of her mouth moving, I would have been convinced I'd only imagined the words.  But I almost wished that I had.  My stomach went ice cold and I was swamped with dread in mere seconds.

"Arkham Asylum?" I murmured.  "How…?"

"I donna ken," Catriona spoke low and fast, her Scottish accent becoming thicker in her distress, "But I'm willin' t' bet me giddy aunt tha' Spellbinder fella's involved.  I went t' try t' get Jesse oot o' there, but I was told I need someone o'er 18 t' sign th' form.  An' I figured t' ask ye, since Mum canna come oot an' Sunny's in school."

The whole thing seemed so surreal and impossible, that the first thing out of my mouth was, " _You_ ought to be in school too, Cat."

"Donna start with tha', Jean.  I donna have th' time."

"…You say all you need is a release form signed?" I asked.  "Seems a bit too easy to me."

"I guess they believe Jes when he says he's no' crazy.  Mind, I think he did a little…persuadin' on them.  But I donna care.  I need yer help.  So…?"

For a long moment I was caught in my indecision.  After all, if Jesse's magic had had something to do with their consent to release him to his family, there was always the possibility that they would snap out of it later and it would only complicate things.  Still, I hated the idea of any family being caught in the madhouse.  I sighed, sagging my shoulders in defeat.

"Let me get my coat."

***

The drive up to the asylum was largely uneventful, and I found a parking spot with ease.  Overall, the whole thing seemed a bit too convenient, and I was beginning to get unnerved by it.  Everything was going so smoothly, sooner or later it was bound to collapse down around our ears into a total disaster.  But when I relayed my concerns to Cat, she only laughed and waved me off.

"Donna be silly, Jeannie.  Ye're here now, so it's gonna be fine." she said firmly, though I could have sworn she had a nervous expression for a brief moment.  Not that I could blame her.  I didn't exactly want to be here, not when this drama could fall apart at any time…and not when I remembered Joker had yet to escape the asylum since my encounter with him.  I hoped and prayed that our luck would hold fast and we'd be in and out again with Jesse in tow with little trouble or delay, but a sense of dread began to take root deep in my stomach, and I was unable to shake the feeling.

We were let in almost at once, and I figured it had to owe to the way in which the guard glanced at Catriona; he probably recognized her from earlier.  He merely looked at us sideways, but I still felt the gooseflesh rise on my arms beneath my sleeves.  The entire asylum was huge, with catwalks and open ceilings on the floors until the roof slanted almost six stories above.  Even from the ground floor I could see rain sliding down the glass in the skylight windows, which incensed my feelings of unease.  The atmosphere was tense with a damp chill lingering on the air that permeated both skin and clothes.  A few quick glances at some of the orderlies only confirmed this, as they wore thick, heavy uniforms, probably to keep the chill at bay.  I hadn't expected Arkham to be completely silent, but it wasn't loud either.  Voices carried here and there, but it was the sort of muted sound of a community college library, where the law of silence was never stated, but enforced by the same influence that ruled the building.

"Cheery place, innit?" Cat muttered next to me, starting off in a certain direction, obviously knowing where she needed to go.

"If you are referring to Edgar Allen Poe's particular brand of cheer," I sniffed, biting back my growing anxiety, "Then I suppose you've hit the mark, Cat."

We continued the rest of the walk in an apprehensive silence until we reached an office door, where we were stopped by a guard.

"Do you have an appointment with Dr. Strange?" he demanded, cur that he was.

"Catriona Macallister, sir," my cousin swooped upon him at once, flashing him a dazzling smile and batting her eyes slowly, "I was here earlier, an' the good doctor said I was needin' an older family member t' sign my brother's release form."

I was less than thrilled to discover my younger cousin was learning forms of flattery that belonged to the protagonists of many a Nora Roberts' novel, but I had to admit her flirtations seemed to do the trick.  The guard swallowed as a flush rose in his cheekbones and he adjusted the collar of his uniform, though whether from discomfort with the atmosphere or from Cat's unexpected provocation, I dared not think about.  He gave me a glance and began to open his mouth, but I was already a step ahead and produced my driver's license from my wallet, thrusting the ID at him a bit more hostile than was perhaps necessary.

"You two are related?" he asked, glancing up from my license to look between us.

"I've kept my mother's maiden name." I answered jerkily, irritated.  "Now if you'd please let us in to see the doctor, it would be most appreciated."

And much to my surprise, he straightened up instantly, handed my license back, and stepped aside to let us through.  Cat gave me a wide-eyed look, though what for, I've not the foggiest notion, and we stepped into the office of Dr. Hugo Strange.

The office was a large room with a ceiling that sat on the same level as perhaps the third floor, and only a few windows set high into one of the walls, filtering in very little light indeed.  There was a coat rack on the opposite wall, a few bookshelves, some filing cabinets, an armchair, and an oblong, waist-high, flat desk.  And sitting at that flat desk was a rather portly, balding man whose eyes were hidden behind a pair of reflective glasses.  He looked up from something he was writing as we came in, and a tiny smile slowly spread over his face.

"Ahh, Miss Macallister.  I wasn't expecting to see you back so soon." he remarked.

Now I'm not one to judge, but something in me had a knee-jerk reaction to this man's presence and I knew at once I disliked him intensely.

"Aye, Professor." Catriona said seriously, striding up to his desk, "I've brought me older cousin, Jeannie."

"Forgive me for prying, Miss Macallister," Strange said, "But why exactly, could your mother not be troubled to come out here?"

"She's ill." Cat answered quickly.  Perhaps a little too quickly, if the smile on the psychiatrist's face was anything to judge by.

"My apologies," he responded, not sounding sorry or sympathetic in the least.

"Ye did say I could bring any relative over twenty-one—" she began.

"So I did." Strange replied indulgently, before his head turned just a fraction to focus on me.  "You said this is your cousin?"  He rose to stand from his desk, though there was truly little height difference when he did so, and extended his hand to me.  "It is a pleasure, Miss…"

"Harker," I replied, shaking his hand only out of formality, "Jeanette Harker."

Black eyebrows rose high on Strange's forehead, and his voice took on an unusually interested tone as he asked, "Jeanette…Harker, did you say?"

I snatched my hand back, decided I was definitely uncomfortable, and gave a tiny nod.  I disliked his smile the moment it had come on his face, and now I liked it even less than before.  "Yes, Harker.  I've kept my mother's maiden name."

"You wouldn't happen to be the same Miss Harker who had the…misfortune to encounter one of my patients on his most recent escape, would you?" he spoke with the distinct curiosity of a child who suspects he's about to be given a toy he'd been begging for.  I clenched my jaw before answering.

"Yes…"

"Most fascinating." the shrink's smile grew as he steepled his fingers together.  I opened my mouth, ready to cut short any further remarks he may have made, but to my astonishment, he merely turned and pulled a paper forward on his desk and held up a pen.  "I do take it you wish to the sign the release form for your cousin?"

I snapped my mouth shut again, determined not to mess things up now, and I strode over, taking the pen from him.  I scanned the form briefly, found no loopholes or hidden clauses, and signed in a bold stroke on the dotted line at the bottom.  Immediately I thrust the paper in Strange's face, and he took it as though in a daze, looking pointedly at my signature.

"If you require viewing my identification—"

"No, no," he said, not looking up from my signature, "That won't be necessary, Miss Harker.  No, all is in order, and I have everything I need right here."

He looked up at me as he finished his sentence and I felt the sensation of cold fingers dragging down my spine.  It made no sense, for there was no reason behind it but sheer intuition, but something about this man was simply _wrong_.  I couldn't explain to anyone why or how, but he was very, very dangerous.

"Mr. Powell," he said abruptly, and the guard who'd been standing outside the door stepped in, "Would you please escort these two ladies to cell 322 for Mr. Macallister's release?"

The guard nodded dumbly, motioned at us, and we followed him to the door, my mind still screaming at me that this was all too convenient.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Macallister, Miss Harker." the psychiatrist called after us in a too-pleasant voice, "I do hope you both have a…relatively pleasant day."

I suppressed a shudder and picked up the pace, not looking back until Powell had shut the door behind us.

"Well, this way, ladies.  If you'll follow me, please?" he cleared his throat, puffing out his chest a little as he snuck a glance at Cat.  Fighting back a growl and utterly disappointed I couldn't launch a missile at Powell's head, we strode along behind him as he led us up to the third floor, passing other orderlies and a few patients along the way.  I kept my eyes forward, focusing on Powell's back so I could avoid the temptation to stare, but my cousin was having no such luck.

"Jeannie…" I heard her murmur as we passed an orderly leading a thin, tall man with long dark hair and icy blue eyes.

"Keep your eyes on me, Cat." I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.  "Focus on my ponytail or some other point."

We made it to the cell with little other incident, Powell abruptly declaring, "Well.  Here we are."

My cousin rushed right past me and, bouncing on the balls of her toes, looked through the tiny window into the cell at her brother.

"Jesse!" she said, unable to contain her excitement.

"Catty?" I heard his unmistakable voice from inside the cell, surprised and a little confused.

"We're gettin' ye out, Jess!  I brought Jeannie along t' sign th' form!" she answered his unspoken question rapidly, then stepped away so Powell could unlock the cell door.

"Looks like it's your lucky day, Mr. Macallister." he muttered as Jesse stepped out of the cell, wearing what I assumed could only be the attire of his "Fantasia" persona he'd created.

"When we get home, Jesse," I muttered softly, "You have a bit of explaining to do."

"Aye, Jeannie," he sighed, "I ken, I ken."

"What's this, a little family reunion in the middle of the nuthouse?" a new voice interrupted.  We all turned to look as a woman around my own age in a straitjacket was being led down the hallway.  What struck me as utterly odd about her was the fact her hair was almost the same shade of green as her eyes.

"Miss Curio's heading for solitary," the guard pushing her along remarked grimly, "Again."

"Nice getup there, emo boy," the green-haired girl sneered, "Trying out for a part in the new Harry Potter movie?"

"Ach, bite me." Jesse snorted, and without warning, the girl lunged forward, snapping her teeth like a bear trap.  Her guard restrained her at the last second, yanking on the back of her straitjacket, but she seemed utterly unconcerned.

"Watch what you wish for, emo boy." she chuckled darkly, and I realized with a shock that her teeth were jagged and sharp, having been filed down into points.

"That's enough, Curio!" her guard snapped, giving her a rough shove forward again, propelling her past us.

"See you around," she said in a dangerous voice as she smiled at all of us.

"Looby gixie…" Jesse muttered, glaring after her.

Powell cleared his throat.  "Well, if you three are finished here, I have to be getting back to my duties.  I trust you know your way out?"  And with that, he walked back down the hallway, throwing Catriona a less-than-subtle wink.

"This way.  We're goin' back t' Jeannie's." she insisted.

"Neh.  We have t' check back in with Mum." her older brother insisted.  "An' there's an easier way oot fer us, Catty."  He then offered me an apologetic look.  "Sorry, Jeannie. 'S no' tha' I donna appreciate what ye've done here, but we gotta get back home first.  We'll come back after though…?"

I sighed and gave him a reluctant nod.  "Alright.  I know how your mother can get.  But then you have to come back; you do owe me an explanation."

"Aye, Jean.  We'll be seein' ye in a bit then." he said warmly before taking off down the hall, Catriona in tow.  I stood watching for a moment, wondering why they seemed to pass right under the notice of the orderlies, then figured Jesse had some sort of spell for that already cast, somehow causing everyone they passed to ignore their presence entirely.

_Wish I could do that sometimes_. I thought bitterly before rubbing some of the chill from my arms and starting back down the path Powell had used to bring us here.  I hadn't gotten very far when something gave me an eerie feeling, kicking my paranoia back into gear.  I picked up the pace, taking long-legged strides down a corridor, when I suddenly heard an all-too-familiar dark chuckle and froze.

_No.  It can't be…_

"Uh-oh!  Miss Harker's making house calls?  But I paid all my overdue fines!" the voice rose and fell in mocking tones, and I cursed silently, wishing the hall wasn't completely devoid of guards.  At that very moment, the alarms started to sound and lights flashed red all around me as I slowly turned on the spot, facing the living, grinning nightmare.

"Y-you're supposed to be in your cell." I tried to sound angry, but fear gave my voice a terrified whimper, and the Joker clapped his hands to his face, his eyes going wide as he made an 'oooooh!' expression.

"Whoopsies!  Guess the flunkies have a worse case of the butterfingers than usual!  And I'm afraid it's catching!" he laughed, just as the spring-powered boxing glove rushed out from behind his back, rising up to meet my face.


	11. Flight Through Arkham

[Jeanette's POV:]

I would sincerely love to tell you that I'd dodged that pop-spring boxing glove, spun around and taken Joker out with a few tricks that would have done Xena proud, then walked away with my head held high in triumph to treat myself to a dinner at a spectacular Chinese buffet after putting Hugo Strange in his place.

But I'm not my younger cousin Catriona, and I'm certainly no Batman.  I am Jeanette Marie Harker, and I work in a library.  Beating a skinny, near-defenseless mystic  half to death with a metal baseball bat is one thing.  Dodging a surprise attack from the Joker in the middle of Arkham with nothing but the clothes on my back, the wallet in my coat pocket, and a pair of high-heeled boots was quite another.

So yes.  I took the glove in the face in the most literal sense of the phrase.  I at least had enough sense to turn my head to the side at last second, but I was knocked back and off my feet regardless.  I slammed into the floor, pain erupting in my side as another round of the Joker's hideous laugh began ringing in my ears.  I couldn't afford to waste a moment; I scrambled to find my footing, just managing to twist out of the way as I heard the spring release again, the boxing glove smacking into the floor where my head had been only seconds ago.  Something about that propelled me to my feet, and I began to run, as fast as I was able to go.

"Spoilsport!" I heard the Joker pout behind me, "You _really_ know how to tick a guy off!"

His footfalls began to sound on the floor behind me and I willed myself to move faster.  I had to stay ahead of him, I just had to!  And in high-heeled boots, that was a less-than-congenial idea.

Ahead, I saw two guards suddenly running in our direction, and my heart gave a leap of relief.

"Stop!" one of them yelled, and I kept moving, positive he was speaking to the Joker and not I.

"Ooh, why don't you sit down and take a load off, boys?" the Joker laughed behind me, and all too late I heard the spring release again.  Before I could shout a warning, one of the guards flew back and hit the floor, unconscious.  I couldn't stop the cry that slipped out of my mouth, but I kept moving, hearing the second guard assaulted behind me as I made a sharp right onto one of the catwalks.

"Oh, Miss Harrrrrrkerrrrrr…"

Ugh, and now he was talking in sing-song?  Just when a girl thinks things can't get any worse…

Again there was that laugh, the only sound that accompanied the smack of my boots against the floor and the erratic drumming of my heartbeat in my ears.  But that didn't last long; I spun toward the left when the catwalk opened back out on the other side, and then the other inmates were at their doors, cheering and jeering.

"You're not going anywhere soon there, Missy…"

"You pissed off the Joker!  Ooh, you pissed him off…"

"Keep running, keep running!"

"Don't run!  Turn around and wipe that stupid smile off his face!" snapped one, making a grab for my ponytail.

"HEY!" Joker snapped back at her, "Shut it, planty!  This is MY turf!  You're supposed to root for the home team!"

The brief moment of distraction gave me a chance to surge ahead, and I raced down a hall marked for a number of different one-on-one therapy rooms, passing several stunned orderlies who had been drawing syringes and batons they held awkwardly.  One of them, much to my surprise, withdrew a tazer from her pocket and began to take aim.

"DON'T WASTE THAT ON ME!" I shrieked at her, jerking my thumb over my shoulder, "HIT _HIM_!!!"  I didn't pause to see if she did anything, but at least she didn't use it on me, and soon the orderlies I had passed began to scream.  I had a dread feeling the blonde with the tazer didn't manage to get her hit in after all.

"You know," Joker yelled at me from behind, "I hate it when people get an unfair head start and legs like a gazelle!  I'm going to bust your kneecaps when I get my hands on you, bookworm!"

I didn't think I had another burst of energy to pick up my speed, but those words somehow proved me wrong.  I took another turn, and then another, no longer caring to memorize where I was going; I just had to get away.

Unfortunately, I ended up making another of those stupid mistakes that I'll eventually become infamous for.

I turned into another opening, thinking it an adjacent hall, only to discover it was a staircase.  The momentum from my boots had barely slowed and when I put my foot out into the air, I realized my error.

"Oh, _Hell_!"

I seized the bar on the wall, some sort of guardrail, but it barely slowed my descent.  The toe of my boot still caught at the end of the step and I plunged forward, tightening my grip on the rail, my shin smacking hard against the stone.  It should have ended there, but my other foot smacked into its partner and my hands were far too clammy with sweat.  My hand slid as I began a smacking bounce of a descent down the stairs to the first landing, yelping in pain and praying like a fanatic that my shins didn't shatter.  The landing broke my momentum at last, with me having enough sense to at least twist so I landed on my backside and saved my legs any more pain.  I would have normally taken my dear sweet time getting up from a fall like that, but that was a luxury I couldn't afford.  Gripping the guardrail with both hands, I wrenched myself to a stand again.

"Ugh, and now you're trying to do the job for me?!" I heard Joker shriek from the top of the stairs, planting his fist and boxing glove on his hip and glowering.  "I HATE when a victim is willing!"

I didn't know what to do.  I just moved, launching myself from the landing and sailing in the air over the second flight of steps, hoping to hit the ground below running.

I hit the ground all right, and then a heavy pair of feet suddenly slamming into my back drove me to the floor and sent me rolling a couple yards.  Stars swam in my vision and I pushed myself up on my elbows, trying to blink the world back into focus.  But my vision remained blurry, and half a panicked second later, I realized why.

My glasses!

And then the laughter started again.

"Gotta say, for a chase scene, you didn't do too bad.  I'd give this little run, oh…a three out of five, total score."

I coughed, hoping my panic didn't show, and began to tentatively feel around the floor.  Where were my glasses?!  I glanced up, watching a blurry, colorful shadow step toward me.  My heart raced with panic.

_Dear God, I am going to die at the hands of a madman._

"Oh, would you look at the time!  Bookworm—"

He leaned close enough I could smell his breath, rancid and vile, like too many things left to rot at once.

"—I think you're a bit…overdue."

But whatever he had been planning to follow up that terrible pun with was short-lived.  An even larger, ink-black shadow swept across my vision, slamming into the Joker and knocking him away from me.  I heard yells and curses as punches were thrown, and swept the floor again with my hands.  It took a bit of scrambling, but I finally managed to find my glasses and jam them back onto my face.  I twisted where I was crouched, to see the Batman deliver a head blow that knocked the Joker senseless.  He seized him by the collar of his less-than-pointless straitjacket before shifting his cold gaze onto me.

"Miss Harker." his voice was even more frigid.

"Before you go saying anything along the lines of how stupid it was of me to come here in the first place," I snapped, shakily getting to my feet and struggling to keep my balance, "I'll have you know that I was assisting family."  I wasn't entirely sure why I felt the need to tell him that, but I had the infuriating thought that he would assume I'd actually ventured into this hellhole to see the deranged clown.  Certainly I was crazy enough to assault said clown with books should he make threats, but I wasn't so crazy that I was _looking_ to get killed.

"Regardless, I would have hoped you knew better." he growled as orderlies and security guards started to charge down the flight of stairs into the room.  At that point, something inside me snapped and my temper flared white-hot with indignant rage.  I don't know what possessed me to do it, but in that second I took two strides and got in his face.

"You unbelievable, arrogant, ungrateful, addle-pated, patronizing, over-grown, egotistical, ill-conceived, self-centered, uncouth _waste_ of a man!  How _dare_ you make this out to be my fault!  Do you really think I've some sort of death wish?!" I shouted.

"In case you failed to notice, Miss Harker—"

"No, you bullheaded son of a bitch!  I did _not_ fail to notice that you saved my life!  Nor did I fail to notice that your stubborn, accusing, justice-fixated excuse of a brain seems to have drawn the conclusion that I started this little mess!  I did not come here looking for an insane criminal, I came to help my family!  The least _you_ could do is shove your foot in your overwide mouth and actually _attempt_ to do a little detective work on what you see before you rather than only looking at the surface and drawing preposterous conclusions _that are as airtight AS A THIMBLE_!"

By the time I'd finished screaming this, I'd realized just how much of an audience my temper had garnered.  Perhaps a woman with more grace and dignity would have gathered herself, gone red in the face, and mumbled a meek apology to all and made a shy exit.

Not I.

The Batman opened his mouth to say something, but I had had enough.  My hand flew of its own accord, and I was rewarded with a satisfying sting in the back of my knuckles when my backhand connected with his skin, rather than his Kevlar.  I heard a chorus of gasps, and I spun on the spot.

"Get out of my way!" I snarled, barely recognizing my own voice as I stormed from the room, through the halls, and out the doors of Arkham Asylum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most fun thing about this chapter was my dearest friend Kimba had had a dream in which she was Jeanette, and was being chased through the halls of Arkham by Joker, and instantly I had latched onto the idea back when I was writing this, because I'd been in something of a slum and wasn't sure what to do in order to move the story along. This was the perfect opportunity. In hindsight as I look back on this chapter, I think I really have fun writing TB!Joker.


	12. Headfirst Into Danger

[Lance's POV:]

Most socialites of my status have some private form of transportation.  A private limosine, a private yacht…I've even known one who owns a bullet train.  I myself have a private jet I can call upon when the occasion requires.  Thankfully, such occurrences are genuinely rare, for which I am grateful.

I hate planes.

They're too confined, too dangerous, and I'm constantly on edge whenever I ride in one, whether or not it shows.  Something about the fact that the jet leaves the ground is highly unsettling, and I cannot even step into my own without immediately feeling caged and heading for danger.  Perchance my feelings are a result of my lycanthropy, yet I cannot help but wonder if perhaps I would have always been like this.  Such had always been my mindset.

However, once Eva had been loaded into the jet, I began to suspect my theory was true.  She also seemed nervous and cagey, more so than I believe I have ever felt, and she sank into one of the seats as though she would never release her hold on the upholstery.  Even Robert appeared more irritable than one would expect, but the vast majority of such behavior on his part could largely be attributed to his dwindling supply of plasma pills and lack of iron.  No, the only person who entered the jet in a complete state of calm was dear Gerard, steadfast as ever.

"I don't see how you can stand riding in this thing." Eva muttered, digging her nails into the cushions of her seat.

"I can't," I answered.  
"It's like being trapped in a soda can," she exhaled, "A soda can that just hangs in the air after you throw the stupid thing."

"You know what soda is?" Robert muttered dryly, and she shot him a sharp glare.

"Ignore him please, Miss Eva." I sighed.  "Robert's low on iron, and his plasma pills need to be redosed and restocked."

" _Plasma_ pills?" she said incredulously, looking between Robert and myself, prompting him to display his fangs.

"Don't leave home without 'em." he said with a mirthless laugh.

"You're a vampire?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, "Huh.  No wonder Lance is such a lycan newbie, if he hangs out with you all the time.  Can't say I've ever met a vampire before; heard of 'em, though."

"I wasn't _born_ a vampire," he protested stubbornly.  "I was Turned a while back; I've known Lance since way before then."

"He _is_ naturally this uncouth, though."  I threw in calmly as we started to take off.

"Cute," he grumbled at me, "You grew a sense of humor at last."

"Balls."

Eva jerked her head around at once, her expression becoming that of utmost shock.

"Did you just s—"

"Yes, he did!" Robert began to snicker, hugging his sides to keep from laughing too hard.  "And I didn't even have to prompt him this time!"

I merely rolled my eyes, wishing I could spit the taste of vulgarity from my lips.

"That you should prompt him at all is distasteful," Gerard remarked from his seat close to the jet's cockpit, never once glancing up from his palm pilot.  I had to smile at that; at least my head of operations remained ever on my side.

"What's this Dorian guy's game, anyway?" Eva asked suddenly, redirecting my attention immediately, "You're going because Checkers here needs to be looked at.  Why drag me along?  What does he want with me?"

I frowned.  "You don't remember Dorian's terms before he gave you the antidote for the silver poisoning?"

"Barely." she answered with a wince.

"He wants you to come back as well, on the grounds of having to whip up a particular sample of antidote designed to treat you."

"Great…" she mumbled.

From then on the rest of the flight passed largely in silence, permeated only by the occasional fussing of Gerard going through his normal routine.  At one point, Eva spoke up, approaching a subject I'd nearly forgotten about that same evening we found her.

"Look, Mr. Pendragon, I know I might be prying again, but if I'm going to trust you completely, you've got to tell me your story.  If I remember anything about the other night, I remember that you and the doctor both saying you're 'an unusual case' as far as lycans go."  She stated, giving me a firm look that had me feeling quite as though she wouldn't step foot out of the plane before hearing my story.  I sighed, hanging my head.

"Are you kidding me?" Rook blurted out from his seat next to me.  "You can't just ask him that!"

"No, Robert," I said quietly, "She has a right to know."

I looked up at her again, meeting her eyes and locking stares.

"I am among a few who make up the last remnants of an abandoned, private project that was going to be sold for a profit to the military.  Hundreds of scientists, the best in their fields, were all hired to work on this endeavor and hold their tongues.  They were being paid to genetically engineer cross-breed soldiers: half-human, half-animal.  The cunning of human intellect and the hunting instincts of predators.  They took several people.  Adults, adolescents, and primarily, children.  They needed to test a range of different ages to see which would adapt easiest to the forced change."

I cast my eyes down to the floor of the jet, growing lost in unwanted memories.

"Dorian was one of the most brilliant minds on the project, and I was his personal assignment.  My father had wanted both my younger half-sister and I to be changed, for our own personal protection against some enemy he had made, but my sister was spared, at least initially.  I was willing, on the other hand, and so I was brought to their laboratories.  Dorian became my world, as did his own separate work: an anthropomorphic panther cub he called Tygrus.  Since I was no longer with my own sibling and parent, they became my family.

"It would be years later before I finally saw Dorian for what he truly is: a manipulative monster with a god complex.  Tygrus has always been wrapped around his finger, and in my younger years, so was I.  To a degree, I still am."  
Silence had fallen in our small space, and I looked up once again to find all eyes on me as I spoke, even Gerard's.  There was a look of deep concern and pity on Eva's face and she flattened her ears against her head in apology.

"I'm sorry." she said quietly.  "I didn't think it would be anything that bad."

"Forgiven," I replied, "For now you know."

And that impenetrable silence fell once more, until we heard the pilot announcing our landing.  The jet glided down smoothly, and came down on a hidden stretch of smooth ground, where it slowed to a gentle stop.

"We're here." I said grimly, unbuckling myself and getting to my feet.

"Here," Eva parroted, "And where exactly is 'here?'"

"Dorian's private island." Rook supplied.

"The guy owns a private island?"

"The reasons behind which thou art better off remaining ignorant of." I added.  
Once outside, everything appeared as it normally did; heavily forested area with numerous exotic plants and wildlife sounds.  Ideally, almost the perfect place for a tropic visit upon first glance.  But a dreadful sensation prickled beneath my shoulder blades, in my lower spine, on the back of my neck, and I knew something was wrong.

"Do either of you sense anything…unusual?" I asked.

"I smell cats.  A lot of cats," Eva spat, "And something ugly."

"I feel like I'm being _watched_ by something ugly." Rook answered.

At once there was a sudden cry from inside the jet, followed by coughing and the subtle thumps of bodies hitting a floor that normal human ears would have been unable to detect.  I spun at once, terrified.

"Gerard?!" I called vainly, knowing no answer would come.

"Sleeping," said an all-to-familiar hypnotic voice nearby, "I won't have any interference from that nosy secretary of yours, Lancelot dear boy."

I glanced over my shoulder, glaring at the smiling face that came walking up to me from between the trees.

"Dorian," I growled.

"My young friends," he addressed us calmly with an unsettling smile, "I was expecting you much sooner.  Still, better late than never.  Come, let us play god."


	13. The Volatile Walking Handbag

[Jeanette's POV:]

I took a day off after the incident at Arkham, thoroughly ruffled and terrified in equal measure.  Of all the ill-organized, inept, indifferent fools, Gotham had to nominate Hugo Strange to run the asylum!  The man hardly batted an eyelash when I was storming my way out of there, and offered me half-hearted apologies that ill concealed his curiosity in the entire affair.  I left without more than a few short, monosyllabic, scathing replies thrown to his questions, and thanked the higher powers of the universe that Batman had remained behind to occupy the psychiatrist's time.  I went home instantly, locked every door and window into my townhouse, and curled up on my couch in a blanket, baseball bat in hand.  Much as I hate to admit to it, I was more frightened than I think I had been before in my life, and despite his recapture at the Batman's hands, I was hardly relieved of the notion that the Joker could escape again so soon and come after me.  I am not quite sure how, but several hours later, I suddenly woke up in that same spot, surprised to find myself on the couch and curled up with the bat.  I wasn't sure what to do, and in a daze, I simply called Chantelle and told her about the events of the day.

Much more to my surprise was her immediate suggestion I take the next day off.  Still, I complied, and afterward, I simply went back to the couch and waited until I fell asleep again.  The next day consisted of largely the same thing; I stayed in the house the entire day with all the doors and windows locked, and ate all my meals in the living room, the bat close at hand.  I remained jumpy and on the edge, my hand instantly flying to the bat with even the smallest sound.  Unfortunately, things didn't improve the day after when I went to work, and I still proceeded to jump at the smallest sounds and peer carefully around every corner wherever I walked.

"Jeanette," Marcia sighed at me when we took our lunch break, "You're acting like a twitchy ferret."

"You would too, if you'd been in my shoes for the past few days!" I snapped, glaring at her.

"She's right, Marcia!" Leslie jumped in.  "Lay off Jeanette!  You tell me that you don't get attacked at Joker at Arkham and walk away from it completely fine!"

" _I_ wouldn't have reason to be at that loony bin in the first place!" Marcia shot back at her before turning and giving me a queer look.  "Which brings up the question I still want answered: why did you go there in the first place, Jeanette?  Especially if you knew—"

"I was going to help get my cousin out." I blurted out, feeling my face going completely red.  Damn Marcia!  Why did she have to bring that part of the matter up?  "He was wrongly thrown in there."

"You have criminals in your family?" Leslie asked in shock.

"Jesse isn't a criminal!" I shot back.  "He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, was taken in as a suspect, and when he tried to argue his case, for whatever hare-brained reason, Chief Rojas had him thrown in Arkham instead of a waiting cell!"

Thankfully the less-than-charming police officer had no fans among the library staff, and the mention of his name marked a turning point in the conversation.  Very few questions were asked of me after that, and I managed to slip away for the rest of my shift.  Being alone still didn't help my nerves however, and I practically danced with relief when I clocked out for the day and headed to my car.

I was still restless on the drive back home, and flipped constantly between the different channels on the radio as I drove, wishing a decent song would come on.  Of course, that was probably akin to asking that another perfect James Patterson mystery novel could just fall out of the sky and land on my doorstep: highly unlikely.  I finally stopped on a channel to hear a familiar tune by Duran Duran.  Unbidden, my thoughts slipped to Mr. Pendragon, and I blushed, feeling like a foolish little schoolgirl.  The man was an enigma, confusing and intriguing all at once, and truthfully I was eager to see him again.  I glanced over at the cell phone lying dark and silent on my passenger seat, feeling deflated and awkward.

I had half-hoped Lance would call or something after what had happened, but of course he didn't.  I wasn't sure why I found it so disappointing, but I wished to hear from him.  After all, we had hit it off well over coffee, hadn't we?

Once I parked outside the townhouse, I picked up the phone, dialed the number I was given, and pressed it to my ear.  But five rings later, only the voicemail answered, and I shut it off before I was forced to leave a message.

"Stupid, Jeanette Harker." I muttered, both furious with myself for calling and yet not leaving a message.  Why had I called?  Why had I called and not left him a message?  "This possible courtship won't go anywhere if you're a coward."

But that's what I was, wasn't it?  A coward.  The Joker had come after me in Arkham Asylum and what had I done?  I had turned tail and run for my life, rather than fight for it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jeanette," I snapped to myself aloud as I unlocked the front door, "That's a different matter altogether.  And you're not trained in unarmed combat; you would have wound up dead if you'd tried to stay and fight.  Don't compare that to being courted by a man."

Now, as riveting as it is to converse and argue with oneself, it was a poor mistake on my part to get wrapped up in the act.  I stepped inside my townhouse, still muttering to myself, and it wasn't until I was halfway to the kitchen that I stopped, realizing in horror that I wasn't alone in my house.

"Well it's about time you noticed us." Said a voice.  I turned to find three men dressed in black wetsuits watching me, their posture relaxed and unconcerned.  I spun around, looking desperately for my baseball bat, and they began to chuckle.

"Lookin' for this, _chere_?" A deeper voice with a thick Cajun accent rumbled behind me.  Slowly, I turned on my heel, and nearly collapsed to my knees in fear.  I was facing a seven-foot reptilian monster of a man, who was watching me with yellow animal eyes, holding my bat aloft like it weighed no more than a feather.  I worked my mouth, trying to say something, but it was too dry, and I had no words besides that.  I had to turn and run for dear life.  I had to call the police somehow!  Forget the breaking and entering of three Navy SEAL rejects, I didn't want to be eaten.  I let out a whimper, taking a few steps back, and he bounced the bat in a webbed hand.

"Gotta say, I admire ya spunk, but I can't have ya smackin' my boys with this here thang.  Not when we're here t' talk."

"Y-you can have all my money," I said quickly, taking another step back, "Th-there's not much in the house, but if you let me run d-down to the bank—"

"This ain't 'bout money, _chere_." He cut me off, setting the bat down gently on my dining room table.  "I need ya help."

" 'Help?'" I sputtered, the word coming out halfway as a mirthless chuckle.  "You want my _help_?  Killer Croc, one of the biggest crime bosses in Gotham.  You want the help of a _librarian_."

"Lemme tell ya before you say anotha word," He said slowly, "You make any comment 'bout me an' readin', an' this is gon' get ugly _real_ fast."

I gulped and clamped my mouth shut.

"Good girl," he said with a nod of approval, "Now…we gonna do this the hard way, or are you gonna come with us nice an' easy?"

I refrained from asking sarcastically whether or not I had a say in the matter.


	14. Out Of The Fire And Into A Boat

[Jeanette’s POV:]

If there was one good thing about Killer Croc, it was at least that he could be a gentleman when he cared to; I was willing to grant him that much. While he sent his three thugs out to “fetch” something, he insisted that I would be better off accompanying him for more reasons than one. I was a touch nervous and not completely willing to believe that statement, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to argue with a seven-foot, two-hundred-fifty pound saurian. So I went along with his direction, and found myself, astonishingly enough, right back at the library.

“What are we doing here?” I asked, confused.

“Waitin’ for y’all to close for the night.” He replied, shifting his weight so we might better be concealed in our hiding spot. Really, it was ridiculous! Me, skulking around outside the library, waiting to break in like some criminal.

“Ya got a key?” He asked abruptly, and in surprise, I looked up at him and nodded, holding up my keyring. “Good. I’d rather nobody know about our visit; gotta keep it as clean as possible.”

“What exactly are you wanting from the library?” I demanded.

“Information.” He replied.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Surely if he wanted some sort of information he could steal it by hacking into computers. Of course, he shook his head at that suggestion.

“Hackin’ ain’t my strong point. Same goes for mah boys. ‘Sides, some thangs you only get from readin’. And I don’t exactly get the luxury of walkin’ into no library wheneveh I want to do that.” He explained, and I conceded the point quickly. We didn’t have long to wait before the last of my coworkers filed out of the door and Chantelle locked up. A few minutes later, and everyone had cleared from the parking lot, nominating the perfect moment for us to leave our cover and head to the doors. I fumbled with the keys for only a few minutes, and then we slipped inside, where Croc took a second to pause, lift his head high, and sniff like a dog.

“Smells like paypuh. _Old_ paypuh.”

“Well, I’m not sure what else you were expecting. After all, this is a library.”

“First time I been in one since this happened.” He stated, twitching the end of his long tail.

“Fair enough, sir. Now, I can’t help you unless you tell me what it is you’re looking for.” I responded with a pointed sniff, adjusting my glasses. I suppose I couldn’t help myself; the moment I set foot in my library, I sort of fell into my role here. Croc fixed a yellow eye on me, and I waited for a few seconds while he seemed to struggle with whether or not to answer.

“Don’t you laugh.”

“I can hardly make light of my job.”

“I need information on werewolves.”

I raised my eyebrows. Was he being serious? Did he actually expect me to fall for that?

“Werewolves.” I tested the word out, and he nodded sharply.

“It’s important.”

“Why, is there a lycanthrope running about Gotham that we mundane people are unaware of?” I challenged, crossing my arms. He fixed me with that golden stare and abruptly, I realized he wasn’t spouting utter nonsense; he was being completely sincere with me. I uncrossed my arms and dropped my irritation quickly, feeling incredibly foolish, something I’ve never quite grown used to.

“Oh…” I murmured, “I-I’m sorry.”

“Like I said, it’s important.”

“R-right.” I conceded to him again and flicked a light switch, heading toward the larger atrium and glancing only briefly up at the Dewey Decimal signs on the sides of the bookcases before I found the aisle I wanted. “Supernatural topics. I assume you prefer to look up the vast majority of lycanthropic lore?”

Of course he would nod! Now really, in all honesty, I knew that my library was bound to carry a copy of at least one sort of book that looked into lycanthropy seriously, but I was nonetheless a bit stunned when I perused the shelves and found one regardless. I pulled the volume off the shelf and flipped it open to glance at some pages, just to confirm that it was indeed what we were looking for. Thankfully it appeared to be legitimate, if a tad older, and out of curiosity, I opened to the back cover, to check the records in it.

_Odd_ , I thought when I saw the list of stamped dates; _The last time this book was checked out was nearly thirteen years ago. And to a G. Montaine. How strange._

“Well?” Croc asked, sounding a tad impatient.

“I do believe I’ve found it,” I answered, holding the book out for him, but he made no move to take it.

“Got anythin’ in it ‘bout how werewolves are affected by silvuh?”

“I’ll…check.” I said testily, frowning up at those yellow eyes. I was far from pleased that he made no effort to look on his own, but perhaps saying so wasn’t a smart idea. I returned my attention to the book and turned to its index, scanning for some mention of silver, half-hoping I would not find a listed number, but to my annoyance, luck was with us. There it was, on page eighty-six. The pages crinkled and rustled as they flipped and turned beneath my fingers, and finally I stopped on the right spot, holding the book a little higher for Croc to examine. He leaned his massive head closer, yellow eyes flickering slightly as he read.

“Well? Find what you were looking for?” I prompted, and his expression steadily darkened.

“Mebbe a bit more than what I wanted t’know.” He growled. “That lab coat’s a liar, an’ he’s gon’ pay for it. You gotta map of Gotham bay layin’ around?”

“Better yet: we have one hanging up in the break room,” I said dryly, “I’ll be right back.”

I pushed the book into his webbed hands and dashed to the break room, flicking on the lights and searching the walls for the right map. It only took a moment to find, but as I reached to unpin it from the wall, I paused. What in the world was I doing? Why was I even helping this…well, man, for lack of a better word? He was a wanted criminal, a rogue! For pity’s sake, he had tried to flood the city before! What any sensible woman would do, would be to take this opportunity to escape somehow and alert the police as to what was happening. And I was a sensible woman, wasn’t I?

_Apparently not_ , I said to myself with a grimace as I pulled the thumbtacks from the corners of the map and took it off the wall. For a moment, I considered folding it and using it to bargain, then shook my head and rushed back to where Croc was waiting, still scanning the pages of the lycanthropy book and frowning. His amber eyes flicked up as I approached, and he nodded at the map in silent approval.

“That it?” He asked, and when I nodded back, he surprised me by adding, “Thank ya.”

“You’re going to return the map, I trust?” I did my best to keep my voice as neutral as possible, hoping he wouldn’t know I was testing him. His only response was to give me a noncommittal shrug.

“If I remember it,” he answered, “’Course…ya _could_ come along, _chere_. I could use ya help.”

“I’m not going to help you commit any sort of—“

“Slow down, bookworm. This ain’t about pullin’ no heists or robbin’ no banks or that kinda thang.”

I wanted to correct his grammar, point out the use and abuse of double negatives, but instead what I said was, “Then pray tell, what is this insanity about?”

“Helpin’ a…friend. A real close friend. I think she’s been kidnapped, and I ain’t gonna just stand by and let somethin’ happen t’ her.” He replied, and I felt something inside me soften. This woman, whoever she was, sounded like she was more to Killer Croc than just a ‘friend,’ and the level of utter sincerity behind the words he spoke tugged at the heartstrings of my inner romantic. I chewed my lip for a moment, caught in indecision between the logical choice and the compassionate one, and finally I gave in.

“Very well,” the words came out of my mouth in a sigh, “I’ll do what I can to help, but I make no guarantees. What do we have to do?”

He smiled at me, perhaps in approval, baring a mouth full of glossy white fangs.

“We’re gonna do whatcha see all the time in the movies.”

“That tells me next to absolutely nothing.”

“Just follow me and I’ll show ya.”

I grimaced again; nothing good could possibly come of “just following” Killer Croc. Still, I said I would help, and I honor my commitments. I rolled up the map, unsure what else to do, and took the book on lycanthropes back when he handed it to me. If anyone noticed its absence later, I would just say that I took it out, which was true enough. After all, I wanted a look at what Croc had seen on page eighty-six, concerning the silver. The more I knew before we got too deep into this mess—whatever it was—the better off I was sure I would be. I ushered him out the doors first, then locked up behind us, feeling my heart pound in a mix of panic and exhilaration. It went against every single personal standard I held myself to, doing something like this, and yet…it was somehow exciting at the same time.

Maybe I really was starting to go crazy.

I turned and gave him a solid thump on the arm with the book to get his attention.

“So where to, O Scaly One?”

He shot me a dry look and pointed at the map in my hand.

“The docks at the bay?”

“Yyyeeppp.”

“This only begins to sound shadier and shadier with every passing moment.”

“Doncha worry ya head, _chere_. You’ll see what we doin’ soon enough.”

And with great reluctance, I allowed a dangerous criminal lead me through what seemed to be a network maze of Gotham’s back alleys. Small wonder so many of these ‘supervillains’ managed to escape Gotham P.D. with ease, given the way all these streets connected to one another somehow. Before long, I started to lag behind, unable to keep up with Croc’s unnatural speed. He doubled back for a me a few times, waited for me to catch up with waning patience, and finally, he hauled me off my feet and into the air. I yelled a number of protests before he sat me on his massive shoulders, and then I just sat, dumbstruck and clinging for dear life as he ran and jumped at top speed. The only complete thought I was able to form after that was the question of whether or not this was anything similar to riding an ill-trained horse, and I barely managed to pick out any familiar landmarks before they were whipped out of my sight. But finally, _finally_ we made it to the dockyard, where Killer Croc slowed to a halt and deposited me on the ground as gently as he could.

“Ya okay?”

“W-well, considering I can barely k-keep my balance and I p-probably resemble a staggering d-drunk, I suppose I could be worse.” I answered. I don’t think I was entirely aware of what I was saying, but it sounded right.

"Good!" He grunted in approval. "C'mon, we almost to the boat."

"Boat?" I repeated. Had I heard him correctly?

"Yep. We gonna sail out and save the damsel in distress from the bad guy. Like in the movies."

"But...but...you're talking about a figurative boat, right? This is just a metaphor, there's no _real_ boat involved, is there Croc? ...Croc?"

But he was already moving again and getting ahead of me, so I had to trot on unsteady feet to keep up. Every step we both took set the dockboards creaking and groaning, drowning out the sound of the water further below, and I wondered if Croc came here often for the atmosphere. Crocidilian mutant or not, something about him struck me as a seafaring sort of man. Or maybe that Cajun accent was just adding to my dizziness. We rounded a corner and walked along a good stretch of the boardwalk until we actually came to the spot where boats of varying size and build were tied off, waiting for their owners to return.

"Don' worry," Croc said at once, looking back at me over a shoulder, "We ain't touchin' non o' these."

"Oh." I breathed a sigh of relief. "Good."

" _That's_ our ride." He declared, pointing, and I looked to feel my heart and stomach sink down to my feet. It was a barge or a ferry or something of the like, approaching the docks from out of the dusk's gloom, manned by the same three thugs Croc had had with him at my house.

"Lord have mercy, the boat is real." I croaked.

"Didja think I was kiddin'?" He demanded.

"I had _hoped_ you were kidding."

The boat (which I had decided to think of as a ferry,) pulled up close enough that one of the thugs threw a couple of mooring lines over the side that Croc caught and quickly tied off. Another of them lowered a plank of some kind so we could come aboard, though I guessed that was mostly for my benefit; Croc easily could have made it onto the ferry in a single leap.

"Ready to go, Boss Croc!" The dark-haired man called.

"Mighty nice work, boys!" He called back, and before I could think of a coherent protest, he prodded me in the back and marched me onboard. "I wantcha t' be respectful now, fellas. We've got us a lady onboard."

I attempted a weak smile, and all three of the men looked from me to each other, to Croc.

"But boss," one protested, "We thought you just needed her to get the map and a book."

"Sometimes," he growled, "We need brains t' balance out the team, and this little lady's got more than the three of ya put together."

I wish I could have glowed with pride and made a remark to back up the statement, but I was still stuck on the fact that I was, indeed, on a boat. And once Croc pulled the lines back in and lifted the plank, I was undeniably _trapped_ on said boat. I suppressed a groan and sank to the deck.

_What am I getting myself into?_


	15. Boat Rides Suck

[Jeanette’s POV:]

Words alone are not enough to express my sheer dislike of boats.  I did my best to find a spot close to the prow where I could just sit down without looking out over the water, and tried to think of how to get out of this predicament.  So far, I couldn’t exactly escape by jumping overboard and trying to swim back to Gotham.  I had no idea where this private island we were supposedly sailing to was, and Croc’s three stooges hadn’t exactly been much help.

Much to my surprise though, they had actually introduced themselves without prompting.  Vic was, of course, the disgustingly foul-mouthed man with the odd mutton-chops beard and had some sort of chronic problem when it came to ordering around his two companions.  Sam was the quiet one in the back who always looked to everyone else for direction, and followed Croc’s orders diligently and without question.  And Freddie was the awkward, gangly, bespectacled man around my own age, who followed the other three like a lost puppy looking for attention.  All in all, they made a peculiar motley crew, and I pondered absently on how in the world they had wound up together.

We had been out on the water for over an hour when Sam came near where I sat, busying himself with checking and double-checking everything in sight.  I watched his work for several quiet minutes before I finally decided to take a stab at conversation.

“Mr. Sam, do you even have the faintest idea how much longer it will be before we reach our destination?”

He looked at me in surprise as he checked a storage hatch, and then frowned in thought for a few moments.  Finally, he answered with a slow shake of his head.

“Hour?  Maybe two?” He said in a soft, deep voice, rolling his shoulders in a helpless shrug.  “I dunno.”

“Hmm.  May I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“How in the world did you and your friends come to work for Killer Croc?  Why are you still working for him?” I queried.

“Tell ya the truth, the boss found us while we were tryin’ to pull a heist,” Sam replied, moving on to check the life rings, “Lemme tell ya, he hits like a semi-truck.  He wanted to take us on as hired help.  Vic, he wasn’t too hot on that.  But Freddie and me, we know the food chain when we see it, so we went along.  Didn’t question it much.”

“Freddie and _I_.” I attempted to correct his grammar, but it was a vain effort and went ignored.

“Dunno why we’ve stuck by Boss Croc since then.  Guess after working for him, we just never felt like goin’ back to bein’ freelance.  Least that’s how I see it.  And I know this sounds crazy, but I kinda look up to the boss.  Kinda like, uh…an inspiration.  See, I never had much education.  Dropped out of high school my sophomore year, to try to help take care of my ma.  Got my GED, but never had enough money to get any higher learning.  And when times got hard, nobody wanted to hire a brainless high school drop-out.”

“Sam,” I said gently, “You’re not brainless—“

“Mighty kind of you, miss.  But I’m really not that smart.  I ain’t no genius or anything.  But the boss, he is.  And I kinda want to be like him.  I even wanna be an inspiration to someone else one day, once I’m good enough to get there.  Plus we’re all kind of a family now.  The boss could have told us to get lost the first time after his plan failed, but he didn’t.  He let us stick with him.” Sam explained.  “That make any sense?”

I blinked in amazement, looking from him to the cabin where Croc stood, manning the wheel, and watched as he clapped Freddie on the shoulders, praising him for a job well done.

“Yes,” I said softly, “Yes, it does.”

“Can I ask you a question, miss?”

“You _may_ ask me a question.” I answered stiffly, twisting my mouth in irritation again at his grammar.

“Why’d you help the boss?” He asked.  “You could’ve called the police, or tried to signal the Batman or somethin’.  But you just decided to help him.  But you’re not scared of him, like any normal people are.  Sure, we scared ya when we were at your house, and that makes sense, but you don’t seem scared of him any more, far as I can tell.  And besides, you look like an honest person.  And if you’re an honest person, you’re not here because you want money or anything.  So why are you still helping Boss Croc?”

It was a very valid question, and it hit home.  I had continued to ask myself the exact same thing since we had been outside the library, waiting for it to close.  I chewed my lip a moment, considering how best to answer the question for both of us.  Nothing jumped to me however, and finally I just shrugged.

“I must say I am not entirely sure,” I replied quietly, “Somehow it just feels like the right thing to do.  And not just that, it feels like something I _must_ do.  I suppose you could say it’s my women’s intuition.”

At that he nodded, and I smiled slightly with relief, glad he had accepted my answer.  The company of criminals was not something I desired on any level, but Sam didn’t seem so bad.  I just wished he wouldn’t speak so ill of himself.  He rose from where he crouched and walked off to check something else, leaving me to myself, although not for long.  Vic and Croc were still at the wheel, deep in discussion, but Freddie had long since been dismissed to wander about the deck.  He reappeared without warning, and he was… _dancing_?

I blinked, removed my glasses, frantically rubbed their lenses upon my sleeve in an attempt to clean them, and replaced them upon the bridge of my nose.

No…No, he was _definitely_ dancing out here onto the main deck.

And to make matters worse, he began singing as well.

“—tell me you’re heeere to staaaaayyyy~  Never, ever, run a-a-awaaaayyyy~ OOOHH!  Thirteen chapters in a sleepless niiiiight~  Written so ba—ad but it feels so ri-hiiight!”

_Shakespeare, Austen, and Fitzgerald!_  I thought, wincing and clapping my hands over my ears.  It was bad enough that the man couldn’t sing, but what in the name of all things sentient were those god-forsaken lyrics?!  I squinted through my half-closed eyes and spotted the source of the problem: an MP3 player clipped to his belt.  Scowling, I struggled to my feet, doing my best to stand upright and still keep my ears covered, and staggered across the deck as it rose and fell with the waves, to nudge Freddie with the toe of my boot.  He jumped at the contact, shocked to find me glaring at him, and with a deliberately innocent blink of his eyes, he shut off the MP3 player and removed his headphones.

“Hey, Miss Harker!  What’s up?” He asked.

“You are screeching loud enough to wake the dead and kill them all a second time.” I said in a ragged voice.  “What the _hell_ are you listening to?”

“Chill out, dude!  It’s ‘Thirteen Chapters In A Sleepless Night.’  Number one hit single from King Sombrero and the Crystal Ho’s.”

“I am going to assume that is a reference to gardening tools,” I responded dryly, “And did you say thirteen chapters?”

“Yeah!” He gave an enthusiastic nod.

“While I can appreciate more than most the gusto of a reader bewitched by a story and I fully support reading books to better fall asleep at night, thirteen chapters of what sounds like a poorly written pornography novel in one sitting is unwise, unhealthy, and utterly implies you’re going to be doing something other than falling asleep afterward.”

He stared in surprise, and I watched as his face slowly started turning a deep shade of crimson.  He ducked his head, stuffed his headphones and MP3 player into his pocket, and did his best to inch away slowly. _Ahh, the workings of the simple-minded man.  How nice it must be, not to be weighed down by trivial worries and too many thoughts, let alone the impression given to others when you sing songs about reading poorly written books of an erotic nature._  I shook my head slowly, partially at Freddie, partially out of confusion with myself.  My thoughts felt a bit too like those of Oscar Wilde in that moment, at least to me, and that was not something I normally allowed.

I decided to blame the boat.  Half of this wouldn’t be even occurring were I not on this bedamned boat.

“Freddie, Sam, Jeanette!  Y’all come here a second!”

I wasn’t exactly ready to comply, but my churning gut decided differently, and I wobbled and staggered after the two, keen to get this over with.  Croc was waiting, the stolen map laid out on a small table, while Vic steered.

“Yes, Boss Croc?” Sam responded dutifully, an elementary school student eager to impress his new instructor.  Croc’s yellow eyes moved from him to Freddie, over his shoulder to Vic, then to me before he glanced down at the map.  I knew nothing about reading them; to my eyes, poor as my sight was before you factored in my glasses, it only looked like so many lines and colors intermingling.  He pointed with a claw to a specific spot amid all the blue, gently tapping the paper.

“We’re about here.  And we headin’,” he slowly traced an invisible line to a small spot of green, “Right there.  Be there in an hour, mebbe two.”

“Then what, boss?” Freddie asked, voice betraying how nervous he felt.  “I know we’ve gotta find Miss Eva, but where do we start?”

“She ain’t gonna be out in the open, boys.  Call it my…animal instinct.  We gonna have to look for ‘em.  We huntin’ for clues when we dock.”  He looked for their nods of consent, then looked to me.  “Jeanette, ah know you don’t wanna be here, but you mind helpin’ us some more?”

And to my utter astonishment, he held out the lycanthropy book to me, clutched tenderly between his massive digits as though made of precious china.  Wordlessly, I accepted, taking the book and giving him a skeptical expression.

“What exactly are you wanting me to do?” I asked.

“Like ah said at the offset, we need some brains here, help us think before just jumpin’ into somethin’.”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Vic spoke up finally, glancing over his shoulder and looking positively furious, “Hold on just one second, Boss Croc!  You’re sayin’ you want _her_ help?  No offense, but a bookworm’s not my first choice for back-up!”

“ _Excuse_ me?!” I gasped in outrage, planting my fists on my hips.

“You heard me, glasses.” He said loftily, turning his chin up at me.  “You might as well stay here when we dock.  This is a man’s work.  You can stay here and scrapbook your favorite quotes from all the chapters of ‘Fifty Sha—‘”

My temper exploded before he could finish, and I charged forward, clutching the book in both hands, and swung as hard as I could.  It connected with a sickening CRACK! and Vic let out a yelp before crumpling, unconscious, to the floor.

“That,” I snarled, “Was for having the _audacity_ to even _mention_ that literary _TRASH_ around me!”

Chest heaving as I sucked in hoarse breaths, I turned to face the other three, daring any of them to follow the same vein of remarks.  Sam and Freddie were staring open-mouthed, and Croc began to snicker slightly.

“You…just…hit…” Freddie spoke in a weak whimper.

“Start singing ‘Thirteen Chapters’ again and you’re next!” I huffed.  His eyes shot wide open and he jerked back, making Croc laugh even harder.

“I had a feelin’ you’d make a good partnuh.” He declared as he took the wheel.  I wasn’t entirely certain why the words of a criminal meant anything to me, but I could feel myself swelling with pride nonetheless.

“Then tell me what I need to know about Miss Eva and this scientist, if you please.” I said.  “So I can better put my brain to use.”

Behind me, I heard Freddie whimpering and whining to Sam, “Oh, man!  It’s bad enough with her here!  I don’t know if I can survive a three hour ride back to the mainland with both her AND Eva on board!”

“Aww, it’s not that bad, Fred.  Come on, what can happen in three hours?”

“Yeah?  I bet Gilligan said the same thing.” He moaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, for those of you unfamiliar with these goons, they appear in the "The Batman" season 2 episode "Swamped", in which Croc makes his debut. I double-checked the identity of these guys with Kimba, figuring she'd remember these guys. http://www.worldsfinestonline.com/WF/thebatman/episodes/17swamped/02.jpg Only two of the three ever talk and are named, and those are Vic and Freddie (Vic's got the weird mutton-chops beard and Freddie's in the glasses.) I've seen some debate as to what the name of the third guy is, and I've seen quite a few people refer to him as "Butch." I've always considered that name unfitting, so he's Sam in my stuff, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. (The mention of a band and song started out as an inside joke between me, Kimba, and her gf Nicole. It has somehow since then become a running gag in my DC fanfics, kind of the same way Bradley the barista makes a cameo in my fics all the time.)


	16. The Escape Plan Fails

[Lance's POV:]

The enclosure was beautiful, an enchanting scene from the greatest imaginations of rainforest-lovers.  Lush plants sprang from the soft earthen floor, exotic trees grew to towering heights, and lovely flowers the like of which most Gothamites had never, (and probably would never,) lay eyes on made splashes of color among the many, varying shades of green.  There were faint snatches of birdsong from time to time and a cool, clean smell in the air, the sort that only comes from earth refreshed by rainfall.  And despite the damp scent in the air, the temperature was perfectly comfortable.

All in all, a picturesque scene.

I loathed it with a passion.

I paced back and forth behind the Plexiglas, trying to think of any conceivable manner possible to use for means of an escape.  True, Dorian had always possessed a questionable level of sanity, but _this_ just spoke of utter depravity.  A quick glance to the other Plexiglas wall that separated our enclosure from Tygrus's revealed nothing but more flora.  A sense of guilt and sympathy twisted a knot in my chest.  I knew he was in there, hiding somewhere perhaps, in his anger and regret, because Dorian had put him in there.

"Just to prevent you from getting any ideas about interfering with this experiment, dear Tygrus." He had said.

Infuriated, I looked away to the much, much smaller pen across the atrium from the one in which I was encased.  At first there was nothing, but after a moment, a figure slammed into the Plexiglas wall paneling with the force of a bullet train, shouting in wordless, incoherent rage.

"Give it up, Robert." I sighed, feeling my shoulders beginning to sink in the first vestiges of defeat as I pressed my hands against the walls of the 'cage.' "Without your full strength, you will only cause yourself injury."

He sank to the floor, clutching his sore arm and baring his long canine teeth as he hissed in pain.

"Whaddya want me t'do, Lance?  Just give up?"

"Did any suggestion of the sort come from my mouth?  What I _want_ you to do is stop for a moment and try to use the brain I know is between your ears somewhere."

"You think any sort of hard thinking is going to help us out of our situation, Lance?" Came a snort from nearby.  I glanced over my shoulder, somehow unsurprised to find Eva glaring at me.  Truth to tell, the blame in the matter _did_ lie with me.  After all, if not for my giving in to Dorian's whims and begging for her to accompany us, she would not be in this predicament.  I let out a ragged sigh.

"Better to keep a clear head and try to see something that may work to such an advantage than to waste energy needlessly." I answered.  I was hoping she would answer, but she only scowled at me before looking away, and I was left to study the areas beyond our cell on my own.  For a long time, silence pervaded the air everywhere and the minutes passed slowly with little change to our exotic surroundings.  Finally, after I had gauged that maybe a few hours had slipped into obscurity, something occurred that jarred me out of a stupor I hadn't realized I'd fallen into.  An exterior door on the far end of the building to admit Dorian, who was followed by Garth the ape-man.  And slung over Garth's shoulders was all-too-familiar form with a head covered with long, curly blonde hair.

"Gerard!" I gasped, and Rook and Eva both jerked, looking up in alarm.  There was no mistaking it once I heard the groggy moan from the figure; I would recognize the sound of my butler's voice in a crowded stadium across the city.  Dorian approached Rook's enclosure, stopping a few yards short of coming into contact with the Plexiglas, and he folded his arms calmly, dark eyes studying my dear friend with an expression I knew too well.

"Put him in there with the vampire, Garth." He remarked coolly, and the ape-man hastened to obey.  I frowned, wondering what game the older man was playing at, but a glance at Rook revealed it.  Separated from his plasma pills, he was suffering the effects of the Thirst more keenly than before, and looking worse the wear for it.

"Dorian!" I roared, slamming my fists repeatedly against the Plexiglas to get his attention.  "Let him go!  Gerard has nothing to do with this!"

"Of course he doesn't, my boy." He replied calmly. "But it would be inconsiderate not to offer Robert a snack while I develop a higher dosage of the plasma pills."

I snarled, wishing I could break through the walls of this over-glorified pen and toss the old scientist to the ground.  But I wasn't about to toss away my own advice from earlier about saving energy, and so I was left to watch and seethe as Garth unceremoniously threw Gerard into Rook's enclosure like an oversized sack of potatoes.

"Done, sir." Garth murmured, quickly backing away and sealing the opening once more, as though worried he would be the vampire's first choice of victim.  He needn't have worried, however; vampires probably weren't too keen on ape-man for fare.

"Excellent." Dorian said brightly, taking a few steps closer to observe.   
 Rook looked up at me, very human concern shining in his eyes, and then stepped closer to Gerard, who stirred, shaking his head and struggling to sit up.  His movements were sluggish, and from what I was able to discern, he sounded drugged.  For all we knew, he probably was.  I let out another low growl, feeling anger flare bright and scorching within me, and it took me a second to realize Eva was standing next to me, pressing against the Plexiglas with an unreadable expression.  Across from us, Gerard finally managed to sit up, touching a hand to his temple and wincing in pain, unaware of Rook twitching and fidgeting close by.

"Lance," Eva said warily, "I may not be a big fan of your Barbie doll butler, but can't we do _something_ before Fangs there kills him?"

I bit my lower lip in frustration, concern battling my anger.  Furious though I was, I did not want to witness the death of my loyal servant, and especially not at the hands of my closest friend, who had abstained from feeding on humans since he had been Turned.  But of course, I couldn't do anything at the moment, and I had my doubts at attempting to transform and break free.

But a second later, my worries were abolished.

Rook had taken another step closer to Gerard, only to recoil a breath later, hissing and baring his long canines as he backed away.

"Augh, sick!  You _reek_ , goldilocks!" He yelled, making us all blink in surprise.  What in the world was he talking about?  Gerard always adhered to the standard of "cleanliness is next to godliness," and I had never known Rook to complain about personal hygiene of others, considering how often he bothered attending to his own.

"Beg your pardon, my boy?" Dorian sounded more than bewildered, a rare occurrance.

" _Garlic_!" Rook hissed, making gagging sounds.  "He ate _garlic_!   _Ugh_!"

"For your information," Gerard muttered, speaking up for the first time, "I had that shrimp and tetrazinni plate yesterday for lunch."

"And you still smell like it!  It's like, oozing out your pores!"

"Considering I've been prevented from bathing since then, that's unsurprising.  Revolting, but unsurprising."

I let out a sigh of relief.  I had never thought the garlic bit of vampire lore held true, but considering how sharp Rook's senses were, the smell was probably far more than he wanted to handle.  For once, Gerard Montaine's expensive taste in cuisine had proved truly life-saving.

"How curious." Dorian murmured, stroking his chin and frowning in thought.  "No matter.  At the very least, that should help keep you docile, Robert.  Now if you'll excuse me, I have to return to my work on your pills.  And when I come back..."

He glanced toward Eva and I, and a shudder of fright raced up and down my spine.

"Then it'll be your turn."

I sucked in a breath, tensing as the door thudded shut behind he and Garth, booming like cannonfire throughout the entire building.  Next to me, Eva shook her head and scowled.

"Guy's a creep." She growled.

"Gee, _really_?" Rook said sarcastically from across the atrium.  "We didn't notice.   _No_ idea _whatsoever_.   _Thank_ you for pointing that out, Captain Obvious."

"Watch it, Lieutenant Sarcasm," she shot back, "Or I might break those baby fangs."

"You wanna go, wolf-girl?"

"With you?  Hah, you'd barely be warm-up!"

"Are you arguing?" Gerard asked calmly, and it took me a moment to recall he probably couldn't hear too well through both layers of Plexiglas.  I exhaled in irritation.

"Both of you, stop it.  Useless bickering is only wasting more energy." I said wearily.  "What we should do, is try to think of a means by which to escape, once the...good doctor returns."

"You think we can actually fight back?" Eva asked skeptically.

"No, I think that's part of what Lance is getting at," Rook said slowly, the sound of comprehension dawning in his tones, "We think we can't fight back, because that's what 'Doctor God' _wants_ us to think.  Am I right?"

Hardly the point I had been _trying_ to drive at, but I could make do with it.

"Suprising to think there's actually a functioning brain somewhere in that thick head of yours." Gerard muttered, and it was with a great deal of restraint that we both avoided responding to his quip.

"Robert raises a very true point, Miss Eva." I explained. "Emile Dorian may not look like much, but he _is_ particularly adept at manipulating others."

"But he's hardly done anything to even--I dunno, _imply_ we can't leave." She objected.

"Father doesn't need to," a voice so quiet my lycanthian ears had a moment of trouble catching it, came from behind us, and we turned to the adjacent enclosure to see Tygrus watching us, "He knows a lot about how people work.  He knows how people tend to panic in a tight situation.  He doesn't need to say much at all."

Her scowl tightened, and I caught a glimpse of the muscles in her powerful arms tensing.  A sharp new scent began to fill the air, a strong musk of anger, wolf, and near-adrenaline, and it surprised me for a moment; was she going to transform?  Tentatively, I reached for her shoulder, hoping to calm her down.

"Tygrus is right, the man is an expert in the art of warping one's perception." I said gently.

"Point behind that is," Rook interjected, "He wouldn't expect us to ever _think_ of fighting back!"

"All the more reason _why_ we ought to devise some sort of strategy to do so!" I finished. "Now get to work on it, Rook."

"You guys are crazy," Eva responded, a smile creeping onto her features, "But I'm alright with this kind of crazy.  So what are we going to do?"

***

Rook's plan was simple enough: await Dorian's return to the atrium, whereupon he and I would attempt to distract the older man with conversation, while Eva and Gerard would search for air vents or other possible escape routes.  In the event Dorian noted their absence, we were to try to distract him from that as well, making up any plausible excuse as to why they were nowhere to be seen.  Tygrus, bless him, readily volunteered to back up any claims we made; after all, the doctor was more likely to believe whatever we said if his 'son' confirmed it.  Then, whenever they got free, Eva would knock out Dorian and Garth, while Gerard freed us and found out where our pilot had disappeared to.  From there, we would retrieve Rook's plasma pills and make a break for my jet, to get back home.  It wasn't an airtight plan, nor was it foolproof, but it was the best we could come up with under pressure.

Finally, the hour drew near.  There were no timepieces or method of physically tracking when Dorian would return, but somehow I knew.  I just felt it deep in my being.  I took to pacing the length of the Plexiglas wall, and Eva vanished into the vegetation behind me, presumably getting a head start on searching for the vents.

"Sir?"

I raised my head from my anxious pondering and found Gerard staring at me from the other enclosure, typical frown back in place on his mouth and his brow furrowed in concern.  I knew he probably wouldn't be able to hear me, so I cocked my head, hoping to give him _some_ indication I was listening.

"I don't have a good feeling about this," he said calmly, "There are too many things that could go wrong."

I bit my lower lip, attempting to contain my own treacherous anxiety.  I knew this, but we didn't have time to focus on all the problem variables in the plan.  Still, I nodded once in acknowledgment.

"However, for what it's worth," he went on, more of his worry coming through in his expression, "I will do my best to try to find that vent.  And...tell Miss Eva I said good luck to her as well."

I offered him a smile and another nod.  Good old Gerard.  For all he was only human, I couldn't think of a time he hadn't come through for me.  After a brief moment, he too disappeared into the foliage and vanished, leaving only Rook and I to converse until the doctor returned.

"Well, this is just _peachy_." My young friend muttered.  "If we get outta here, I'm gonna kill her."

"Who?" I prompted.

"The vampire who Turned me in the first place." He replied.  "If it weren't for her, _none_ of us would be here waiting for whatever the hell Dorian's gonna do...because if she hadn't Turned me, I would need those damn pills."

That was a relief to hear; I'd worried he had been referring to Eva.  Still, my mind kept wandering to a very different woman, and I absently wondered how she was doing.  Was she having coffee and reading right now?  Was she asleep?  Was she up late and chatting on the phone with friends?

Alright, perhaps it wasn't such an absent train of thought.  I had difficulty in trying to get Jeanette out of my head, she was just too fascinating and intriguing.  I wanted to get to know her more, to find out what sort of activities she enjoyed, to see if she would be willing to go out to dinner sometime...Granted, it was easier to focus on the situation at hand, but I still couldn't dismiss her from my thoughts.

"Lance?  Lance!"

"Hmm?  Sorry, what?" I asked, nearly jumping out of my skin when I realized Rook was addressing me.

"Lance, you big twat." He muttered, smiling sadly.  "We'll get out of here.  You'll see her again."

I froze, my spine going rigid, and I averted my gaze, turning my mouth down in the best attempt I could muster at a sour scowl.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

He grinned in that bedamned knowing way of his, and before he could make a remark, the door to the atrium opened with a deafening bang, and Dorian strode in, cane nestled in the crook of his arm, glint of triumph glittering in his eye, and his typical stride of arrogance in place.  I opened my mouth to speak, bracing myself for our plan to fall into place...

"Where are Miss Eva and Mister Montaine?" Dorian asked immediately, tone cool and even as he adjusted the lapels on his cuffs.

"Toilet break, Dorian," Rook said quickly, "People gotta pee sometimes, you know."

"The likelihood of the two of them both needing to use restroom facilities at the exact same time is miniscule, Robert. Do not presume to mock my intelligence." He shot back calmly.  "Tell them both to abandon this idiotic plan you've devised, or I'll gas your enclosures."

My heart leapt into my throat and Rook seemed to go paler than normal.

"Father!" Tygrus roared, surging to his feet and slamming his massive paw-hands against the Plexiglas.  "Don't do this!"

"And it is rebellious outbursts like that," Dorian added, gaze drifting past me to Tygrus, "Why you're encaged, dear Tygrus."

A snarl built in my throat, and caught Dorian's attention.

"You have thirty seconds to recall the others, Lancelot." He said, expression never changing.  "I'm sure you can tell I'm not bluffing in this matter."

I ground my teeth in frustration.  I knew Dorian, and he _wasn't_ bluffing, damn him.  More than ever, I understood Eva's urge to transform and attempt to break free through force.  Subconsciously I felt the pull to do so, to set the wolf lurking below the surface loose.

"Fifteen seconds, Lancelot.  Are you really going to bring this down upon all of you for the sake of stubborn rigidity?"

The seconds ticked by too fast for my liking.  I figured we had about five seconds left when, without warning, a loud ringing sound started up that assaulted my ears and had me flinching in pain.  Was that an alarm system?

"Garth!" Dorian shouted back through the door, eyes going wide in a rare show of panic, "What in God's name is going on?!"

"Doc!" Garth shouted back, dashing into the room, gasping for breath, "We got us some intruders!"


	17. Of Men And Of Monsters

[Jeanette's POV:]

There was only one spot on the beach we could immediately tell was ideal for making berth, and Croc ran us ashore with such little grace I felt certain I would upheave my stomach all over the floorboards of our ferry. The sudden, jostling bounce of the vessel knocked me off-balance and I would have fallen, had I not been gripping a pipe overhead. The whole thing was incredibly amusing to Vic, who had been moping sourly in a corner after he came to. Clearly he wasn't about to let go of having been knocked out with a book any time soon.

That thought put me in mind of another, more dangerous individual that held the same grudge against me, and my entire body went cold. I had been able to keep Joker out of my thoughts for a time, but I couldn't forget what had happened at Arkham. It was the stuff of nightmares, and I had not rested easy since that day. The black wolf had appeared in my backyard a few more times, and its presence had given me some comfort, but that had done very little for my abused sleep patterns. Truthfully, I had become paranoid, terrified, caged by my own fear.

"Come on," Croc's voice brought me sharply out of my own pondering, and I blinked, surprised to see him offering me a webbed hand.

"I beg your pardon?" I said, tentatively following him to the edge railing.

"Hop on mah back, _chere_ , and we'll jump down." He explained, and I caught Sam leaping onto the beach out of the corner of my eye. My mouth twisted in a mirthless way as I grabbed Killer Croc's hand and shakily clambered onto his back with all the grace and coordination of a drunk chimpanzee. I was uncertain how the reptilian man would respond, but I was entertaining the fantasy of telling the Joker that _the_ Killer Croc was one of my friends in bizarre places. What would the Clown Prince of Crime think _then_?

"Yah alright, Miss Harker?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Croc. Simply musing about what it must be like to be _dangerous_."

His scaly head twisted on his shoulders, and a half-lidded yellow eye gave me a flat stare.

"Y'all crazy." He remarked coolly before launching off his feet and into the air. My stomach made a brief visit to the location of my throat, then was abruptly slammed back into its proper spot on impact with the ground, and I bounced slightly as Croc landed. A few soft thumps behind us indicated Vic and Freddie were right behind us, and I slid off Croc's back, relieved when my feet touched the sand.

"Land!" I exhaled, "Beautiful solid _land_! Oh, I'll never take you for granted _again_!"

"Hmph. She's too soft for this mission, Boss Croc," Vic snorted, "She doesn't have sea legs, even."

"Vic," Croc replied, "Shuddup."

I tossed him a smug grin and wobbly followed the reptilian rogue as he began trekking up the shore and further inland. After a moment's pause, the three stooges followed behind me, armed and wary as the beach led up and into a dense, lush forest. Soft, low animal noises soon reached my ears as we blazed a trail through dense scrub and underbrush, and a flickering of the dim moonlight indicated clouds moving overhead. For all it was far from silent, there was a strangely calm sense in this island forest, the sort of peaceful stillness I could expect from a wildlife sanctuary. Of course, my romanticized view of the place wasn't shared by the henchmen, who I caught glimpses of when they crashed around loudly, either swatting at bugs or jumping at imagined threats.

"Y'all make more ruckus than a 'gator at Mardi Gras," Croc growled at one point, "Pipe down!"

"S-sorry, sir!" Freddie answered, swallowing nervously, his gun rattling as he shook violently with fear. "Th-this p-place really g-gives me the creeps."

"Don't worry, boys," he responded a tad gentler, "Ya ain't got a thang to worry 'bout so long as ya stay with me."

Like children they formed a chain, each grabbing a fistful of one anothers' shirts, save for Sam, who respectfully kept his hands off my person. He did, however, keep right on my heels the entire time, and I had to pick up the pace to avoid being trodden on. Croc looked over his shoulder at us once or twice, and muttered something about ducklings in a row. I refrained from commenting. The trail he cleared took us right toward the heart of the island, and soon, the further inward we went, the more we found signs the place was inhabited, such as signposts directing toward a main trail and a couple of bridges at random intervals. The three stooges made an attempt to get on the main path, but Croc lifted his head and sniffed like a hound before leading us in a completely different direction.

"But boss!" Vic protested. "The main trail--"

"Use ya head!" He snapped. "That path probably's gotta buncha hidden cameras watchin' it. 'Sides, I'm pickin' up a whiff o' fumes. Smells like a jet exhaust engine. We goin' this way."

I looked at him in surprise; I had been ready to agree with the point of cameras monitoring the path, but I could not smell anything remotely like exhaust fumes. How sharp were his saurian senses? After a second of wondering, I quickened my pace to keep level with him.

"Mr. Croc--"

"Waylon." He mumbled.

"Waylon?" I echoed, puzzled.

"'S'my name." He whispered. "Real one, anyway. Don't think you can go usin' it right now; I'd just like ya t'know."

"R-right then," I said, taken aback by this strange admission, "You said you can smell the exhaust fumes of a _jet_?"

"Yeah," he confirmed with a low nod, "Been off for a while, but the fumes got a way of lingerin'."

"And why are we heading towards the fumes?"

"If they's a jet, we might find us a hidden entrance, _chere_."

I let out a low whistle. "Color me impressed, Croc." I said, tossing him what I hoped was a look of approval. He responded by shooting back a grin. The trees started to thin out before long and after a handful of minutes, I spotted a glint of metal in the moonlight ahead. Even from a distance, it was difficult to mistake; Croc had found the jet. We picked up the pace, coming to an end of the trees to a space that had been cleared as a landing strip for just such a plane. The three henchmen immediately broke into whispering, and Croc made some remark as he began to stalk toward the jet's nose, but a logo on the side of the plane caught my eye. The initials "DBI" meant nothing to me, but the name of "Pendragon" printed in large blue letters certainly did.

My mind began to reel at the implication, and I had address my newfound rogue friend to make sure I wasn't finally losing my mind.

"Croc? Do you know who owns this plane?"

He paused in mid-stride, blinked, and scanned the logo before scowling. I felt my heart leap into my throat. Not Lancelot Pendragon. Surely not him! He was so handsome, so charming and kind...surely he couldn't be involved in having kidnapped a woman and brought her here...?

"Yeah," Waylon remarked finally with an irritated grunt, "Lance Pendragon. Nice guy; he was able t' help Eva out last week when she was in bad shape. But the guy that owns this island got Lance undeh his boot. Tried blackmailin' him and Eva, _both_. Looks like he's makin' good on it, too."

I swallowed hard over a lump I hadn't realized had formed in my throat, clenched my hands, and tried to consider the matter and hand and where it was leading. This Eva had been kidnapped or brought here, and apparently she wasn't the only one. Lance Pendragon was also being blackmailed by the same man responsible for all this. Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to me. Had Mr. Pendragon _known_ Eva was a werewolf? Had he met her prior? Was that why he had reacted so vehemently to my reading those werewolf novels, and the rest he had said was merely a cover-up, to throw me off?

I wanted some answers.

"Looks like everything around here's clear, Boss Croc." Sam declared as he, Vic and Freddie returned from a quick sweep around the perimeter of the jet.

"Nice work, boys." He gave them an approving, toothy grin. "This way."

I worked my jaw slowly, bringing up the rear behind the men, considering what to do...

***

The inside of the tunnel we found felt cold, cramped, and it set all our nerves on complete edge. While I cannot recall ever indulging in certain horror novels, I remain positive to this day that tunnel could have very well been the inspirational setting for many a thriller novel. Or else, it was deliberately based upon such writings so as to discourage the curious and thoughtless from foolishly venturing deeper within.

The notion did not bolster my faith in our little rag-tag team in the slightest. The tunnel was short enough, but it ended in a towering wall, with a single, small door off to the west wall, cut deep into the earth of the island. One by one we squeezed inside, and began to make our way through a confusing maze of halls, seeking out any sign of a main room, or at least some place with a higher ceiling; Croc did not take well to barely having elbow room. To make matters worse, the moment we opened a set of double doors under a sign labeled "Enclosure Sector 8," a high-pitched, tinny ringing started up somewhere further off, and it grew irksome quickly.

"Agh, we set off the alarm system!" Freddie grumbled, wincing against the noise. Croc grunted in response; after all, there was little to be done for it now. The enclosure seemed to encase more jungle area that had been cleared out to a degree, and was full of crumbling, half-built structures that you might expect to see in South American ruins. A sudden, strong smell filled my nose, and I didn't require super-human senses to recognize it.

"Oh, sweet Hemingway!" I croaked, hand flying up to cover my lower face. "Cats!"

"Ugh..." Vic groaned, pinching his own nose, "Smells like someone's not cleaned the litterbox in about ten years."

We spent several minutes wandering the enclosure, trying to locate a different exit, the shrill alarm still ringing somewhere in the distance. Sam finally found the exit on the farthest end of the enclosure, hidden in a small corner. But as we made our way toward it, we were met with a less-than-pleasant surprise, and I had to bite down on a scream.

There was a figure, not quite a man, but more than an ape, guarding the door, and he was hefting a long-barreled shotgun in his hands, preparing to aim for any of us.

"Oh, no ya don't," the ape-man grunted in barely discernible English, "You ain't goin' nowhere. The Doc ain't gunna be real friendly to a buncha trespassers."

Good lord, his grammar was appalling to the point I was having waking nightmares.

"You thank that li'l BB gun is goin' to scare us?" Croc snorted, leaning forward, probably preparing to charge.

"I think 'nuff tranquilizer darts'll drop yuh." The ape-man said confidently. "Unless you come with me t' the Doc's lab nice an' quiet."

A low, dangerous growl built in Croc's throat, and my mind raced as I seized his forearm to get his attention.

"Maybe we should do as he says," I whispered, "We might have a better chance of finding your friend."

His yellow eyes flicked to me briefly, and slowly his growl died away as he straightened his posture, glaring at the ape-man with distaste. Reluctantly, he held up his hands to show his surrender, and with a good deal of griping, his three men stowed away their guns and followed suit. I was half-expecting the ape-man to force them to drop all their weapons, but he wasn't showing himself to be the sharpest tool in the shed, and merely ushered us under the threat of the tranquilizer gun out of the enclosure, and led us deeper into the heart of the huge building. We passed through two more major hallways before he indicated a door and ordered us to halt. He shuffled along, keeping a wary eye turned on us all before he opened the door and pushed it inward, grunting in a way to show we were to step inside.

"Found 'em, Doc." He announced in a half-growl.

The room seemed to be a low-ceilinged hallway between several small enclosures, the sort that belonged in a zoo. To the right, in a sparse, grassy area behind thick glass walls, were two men. One of them, a taller man with a shapely, almost-feminine chin and long, wavy blonde hair pulled back in a horsetail, was unfamiliar, but his companion wasn't. It took me only the briefest of glances to recognize the filthy, unwashed young man with the black-and-white checkerboard patterns in his hair and clothes. He was the fellow Lancelot Pendragon had sent to the library to deliver me flowers! What was his name? Rook?

A strangled, heart-broken noise from the left enclosure drew my attention and my breath caught in my throat. There stood a disheveled, pale-faced Lancelot Pendragon, accompanied by a shorter woman in torn, tattered street clothes with long, wild brown hair and bright, furious eyes. I wasn't certain I could put my finger on how it all fit together, but she looked absolutely feral. Of course, if she was Croc's werewolf friend, that was fitting.

"Ahh, well done, Garth. Now if you please, do leave us alone."

The smooth, elegant English-accented voice came from the older man in the room, standing perfectly between the opposite glass walls of the different enclosures. He was roughly Lance's height, with graying red hair and a weathered face that had something of a feline tilt to the angular wrinkles time had carved into his features. A long, thin cane was dangling from the crook of his folded arms, but despite this, he stood straight and tall, and radiated authority.

"B-but--" The ape-man stuttered in protest, throwing a significant look in Croc's direction, but the Englishman silenced him with a calm, even look.

"You worry too much, Garth." He said smoothly. "But very well; if you're so anxious about my well-being, you may stay. But keep away for the time being. You have a way of putting off my guests."

"Kidnappin' is off-puttin' enough as it is." Croc snarled, his entire body tensing as he whipped about to look at the wild woman in the enclosure with Lance. "Eva..."

"Ahh, yes, Mr. Waylon Jones," the Englishman drawled, a cold smile creeping over his features, ignoring the reptilian sneer, "I haven't forgotten that you were initially against Miss Eva's coming here for further treatments against her silver poisoning, let alone joining her that I could...get to know you better."

"Whadd've ya been doin' to her?" He demanded.

"Hardly anything, yet." The scientist replied calmly. "In fact, your arrival here has prevented my beginning the experiment."

I shifted uneasily, glancing at the furious werewolf woman behind the glass, her bright yellow wolf eyes darting around at us all. My suspicions were beginning to creep up on me again. If Mr. Pendragon was in there with her...

"What experiment?" Croc growled. Luckily, the Englishman's voice seemed to be hypnotic enough that everyone was focused on him, and he was focused on my saurian acquaintance. I took the opportunity and snuck closer to Freddie, carefully reaching out toward the holster on his belt.

"Breeding, of course!" The man spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Breeding?!" Rook suddenly spoke up from behind the glass of his enclosure, and his voice held a note of shocked horror. I also froze, listening to him. " _That's_ what all this bullshit has been about? Dorian, you're insane!"

The man's name was Dorian? I barely registered it, following multiple gazes back to where Lance and Eva stood on the other side of a wall of glass, both looking equally outraged and disgusted. A revelation I didn't want to believe was taking place in my head, the very one I'd been trying for the past several minutes to avoid thinking about. If my hunch was right, then Lance...Lance was...

"BREEDIN'?!" Croc roared, flinching back for a second before making a wild lunge for Doctor Dorian. "I'LL KILL YA!"

A shot was fired, and something bit into the floor in front of him, stopping him short.

"You try t' hurt the Doc again, I'm shootin' at yer head." Garth declared simply, giving the barrel of his tranquilizer gun a fond pat. Croc growled at him and stepped back with what appeared to be a great deal of effort. Dorian, for his part, seemed completely unfazed.

"Of course," he said brightly, "This sort of opportunity is one that many respected individuals in my field of biogenetic research would kill to have. Can you imagine if a genetically engineered werewolf can mate with a wild, fully-bred true werewolf?" He turned and glanced at Eva as though he was hoping to placate her with his smile and honey-coated suggestions. "The population of your species would soar again, my dear. The North American werewolves would no longer be dwindling, let alone endangered. Through successfully mating with Lancelot, you will contribute a greater work to your entire race than many war heroes have done for entire countries."

That was it. I couldn't take it any more.

I moved, barely stopping to think about what I was doing, and I surged forward past Croc and seized Dorian by his shirt collar, cutting off whatever he was saying.

"You! You’re a great, beastly coward of a man, forcing your will and god-complex on those less fortunate simply because no one objects to a word you say!" I snarled. His eyes opened wide, and for a moment, I wondered if anyone had ever stood up to him before. But witnessing all this, the way that everyone seemed to just completely clam up when he began talking, how was it not the case? "Well sir, I object. I will not tolerate this ghastly experiment of yours!"

I lifted it then, the gun I had swiped from Freddie, and he let out a delayed yelp of shock when he realized what I was holding. The weight felt cold and utterly wrong in my hand. Never in my life have I ever even wanted to touch a gun.

But...I had to do something.

Mind racing, I recalled my cousin. Catriona had made me sit through countless episodes of Xena, because she absolutely idolized the warrior princess. I was nothing like Xena...but that didn't mean I was unable to learn a trick or two from her.

I pushed the gun to Dorian's temple, and forced my arms to keep from shaking with the terror I felt. My heart was hammering in my chest, probably breaking some record of beats per minute, and my body started to break out in a cold sweat. Was I actually going to do this? One mistake and my life would be utterly changed for the worst forever.

I just prayed I was better at bluffing than I thought.

“Now.” My voice, much to my relief, came out sounding much more calm and collected than I felt. “You will release Mr. Pendragon, Mr. Greene, and Miss Eva into our custody. You will not pull any tricks on us or manipulate the circumstances of their release in any way that works to your advantage. There are to be no strings attached in any way.”

“Surely you’re joking, my dear.” Dorian laughed, but something flickered in his eyes, and I had to fight to keep my features even. I was gaining the upper hand, and he was starting to panic, to give into his fear. I decided to try to push my bluff a bit further.

“Having come to know the sort of man you are, Dorian,” I replied as calmly as I could manage, “I consider you less than human. And trust me, that means I have no qualms about pulling this trigger. Killing a worm is not the same as killing a man.”

Dorian fell silent, staring at me in silence for a long moment that stretched on and on, until the tension in the air was as thick as swamp water. And then, to the side, I caught something Eva was saying in a tone of questioning doubt.

“I thought you said this woman of yours was a librarian.”

I heard Lance sigh in response. “She is.”

I fought to keep my rage in check. So I was 'his woman' now, was I? And yet he could not even bother to mention the fact he was a werewolf?

No, no. I had to concentrate! I couldn't allow myself to waver for a moment. I raised my eyebrows at Dorian.

"So..." I asked, "What is it going to be?"


	18. Girl Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, a rare instance where the alternating first-person POV is neither Lance nor Jeanette's. It was fun to break things up and write for Eva for a change.

[Eva's POV:]

Sometimes humans still surprise me.

Not in a bad way, mind you. I'm used to being surprised by human stupidity. But when they show how resourceful, brilliant, or brave they are, it's a pleasant surprise. And that reedy little woman in the glasses having the lady-balls to put a gun to Dorian's head really surprised me. I'd been expecting my man Croc to be the one to jump into action, but the way things had gone meant my bad day was turning around at last.

Lance on the other hand, seemed to have jumped out of a frying pan to land in a fire.

Since Dorian had released us, the librarian remained cold and distant with him. She refused to even look at him, let alone acknowledge that he kept trying to talk to her. And Gerard Montaine and Rook maintained a good distance, as though wary that they would get caught in the crossfire if she exploded. Her frosty demeanor could have iced over entire corridors of the lab as we passed through them.

Tygrus led the way out, probably out of some need to apologize for what we'd been put through, and I remained a step behind Croc, with Vic, Sam, and Freddie at my back. If the truth be told, I was secretly glad Waylon had brought them along. Vic was a greedy bastard, and Freddie was annoying as long as he was breathing air and being stupid, but Sam was polite and sweet enough, and I felt better knowing my man had _someone_ watching his scaly back when I wasn't around.

Once we made it outside, Tygrus started pointing out which paths led where on the island. Waylon started to lead in one direction, presumably back toward wherever he and the guys had left the boat, when Lance and Jeanette began raising their voices behind us. I paused, sensing something was going to go south pretty damn fast. I clicked my tongue and the boys paused, following my gaze.

"What in the name of God makes you think I am going _anywhere_ with you, Mr. Pendragon?!" Jeanette fumed, nearly spitting fire. "You keep a secret from me like that, and then you expect me to trust you once I've found out?"

Oh. _Ouch_. I winced in sympathy for Lance. Poor guy.

"Miss Harker, please. Let me explain--"

"Oh, _now_ you want to be honest with me?!" She shrieked, and I watched as her face began changing color in her anger. "It's a little too late for that, Lancelot Pendragon! Small wonder you didn't want me reading books about werewolves. What, were you so completely terrified that I would deduce something about you after that during our continued courtship?"

Lance's face fell and he stepped back like she'd been hitting him. I glanced at Rook and Gerard and I wasn't too surprised to see the latter was looking off in a totally different direction, while the vampire watched, his face twisting in empathy for Lance. After a minute, he tried to step in.

"Come on, Jeannie, be reasonable--"

Her arm swung up the second he called her by that nickname, and she hit him up the side of his head with a book I think she just somehow pulled out of hammerspace.

"I am being perfectly reasonable given the circumstances, you unwashed oaf!" She snapped, before glaring again at Lance. She stayed quiet for a moment, then spun on the heel of her boot and began marching toward us, raising her voice. "And as such, you three will not be escorting me anywhere!"

"You would rather travel back to the mainland with five criminals than fly safely with us?" Gerard said in kind of a flat voice, and I tossed him an irritated look. The guy better watch it with that "criminals" talk. True or not, it was rude. And if anything, that only seemed to make Jeanette all the more determined. She did pause a second, but then held her head even higher and continued.

"Yes," she answered curtly, "I would."

She strode past me, Croc and the boys, power-walking in the same direction we were headed. I wasn't sure if I was more annoyed or impressed that she was practically inviting herself onto our boat, but I didn't say anything. I looked over my shoulder one last time, catching sight of them. Lance looked... _broken_. I felt bad for him, but at the moment, there was little I could do. And I wanted to get home. I turned away, hoping the lycan-newbie understood he had my sympathy, and trotted after Jeanette, Waylon at my side. Vic, Sam, and Freddie followed, smelling strongly of nervous anxiety. Idiots.

At least Jeanette seemed to know how to get back to the boat. I gave her props for that, she led us right to it. The second it came into view, the boys rushed to it, eager to please as always. It was only then the librarian hesitated.

"I-I _can_ go home now with you, can't I?" She asked, suddenly unsure as she looked up at my man. "You _will_ return me to my home?"

"Course, _chere_ ," he said, "Owe ya that much. Ahm good for mah word."

And with that, he grabbed her like a doll and made a powerful leap onto the boat, making it shudder and bounce. I scowled in annoyance. It wasn't Jeanette's fault he had grabbed her like that, but I didn't have to like it. I leapt up after them, breeze rippling through my hair and whipping it into my face as my momentum carried me through the air, and landed as lightly and sure-footed as any cat.

Being a werewolf _rocks_.

As I stood back up, I caught sight of Jeanette staring at me, jaw hanging open, from where she was sprawled on the deck. Realizing Waylon must have dumped her on the floor like that relieved me a little, so I relaxed and tossed her a grin. I know, I can be overwhelmingly impressive when it comes to humans. It's part of the werewolf gig.

"Alright, we're getting ready to move back into the water," Sam yelled up as he and the other two moved to shove us off, "You may wanna hold onto something, Miss Harker!"

I rolled my eyes and strode to where Waylon was steering eager to talk to him. It'd only been a day or less away from him, but it felt like years. He looked up as I approached, his golden eyes softening.

"Eva." He murmured softly, and I shivered a little at the way he said my name, like I was something beautiful and precious. No other man ever treated me like that, and secretly, I love it. I reached out and touched one of his webbed hands, the scales smooth and warm beneath my skin, and I gave his hand a squeeze.

"Took you long enough," I said, smiling.

"Ah had to get a few things."

"Men!" I snorted, rolling my eyes. Still, I wasn't able to keep up the pretense. I closed my eyes, leaning my head against his arm. "I missed you, Waylon."

The ferryboat gave a jerking shudder beneath our feet, and I heard Jeanette yelp again out on the main deck as she lost her footing.

"Ah missed you too, _mon amour_." He murmured, his voice soft enough its normal growling quality seemed to vanish. "Didja think ah wouldn't come for ya?"

My heart sped up a little, and I gave his hand another small squeeze. "Sometimes, with you, I can't always tell."

There were a couple of thuds and another yelp as the boys clambered up over the side of the guardrail and onto the deck. Waylon grunted in irritation.

"Looks like our reunion's gotta be postponed."

I opened my eyes in a frown and huffed, annoyed. Trust the three klutzy dingbats to ruin a moment. Still, I was willing to bet someone else's money Freddie would lose his head if it weren't attached to his shoulders, and Vic's ego was so big it obstructed his vision, so perhaps they _did_ need to hang around us like lost baby chicks. Otherwise, they'd get themselves killed.

"Then we'll just say you owe me and make up for lost time when we get back home. Just us, no pet stooges." I murmured.

"Ah'd like that," he whispered, before raising his voice a little and adding, "Ya think ya might go talk t' Miss Harker?"

I looked up, trying to study the face I had learned so well over the past year or so, and shrugged.

"I suppose I could." I replied.

"Don't wantcha over-exertin' yaself after us rescuin' you." He explained. "Ya'd best relax. Go have yaself a girl talk."

"Croc, look at me," I snorted, gesturing at my frame, "When was the last time you think _I_ had a girl talk with another woman?"

He gave me a wry look, pursuing his thin, reptile lips, and remarked, "Case in point, _amour_. All tha more reason ya _should_ talk t' her."

I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows at him. It felt like he was trying to dismiss me, the way he used to back when we first started working together, and that chafed. It was almost like wearing a collar of sorts, which didn't just chafe, but was insulting. Still...

I glanced out toward Jeanette, watching as she clung to the guardrail and sat weakly on a storage compartment, shaking a little. Her angry expression had returned, and I figured she was probably still furious with Lance, but there was a slightly green tint to her face, like she was going to be sick. I could sympathize; took _me_ a while to get used to traveling by water. At once, a part of me decided there was no getting out of it, that I had to talk to her. If she had her way, Jeanette would probably be mad at Lance until the end of time, and that would kill the poor guy. And part of me couldn't let that happen.

I walked out to the main deck, passing up the boys, all three of whom gave me wary looks, and sat down on the long storage unit next to Jeanette. She looked up, giving me a skeptical expression.

"You know, you could wear a life jacket if it'd make you feel better." I remarked.

"There are actually _life jackets_ on this accursed vessel?"

"Yeah. We're sitting on top of 'em."

"Oh."

"You look like you're having a rough night."

She didn't respond. Judging by her face, she was weighing her words very carefully, and I was surprised to realize that I appreciated that. Finally she answered.

"I cannot be having a worse evening than yourself. Being locked up by that madman wanting to use you for his unholy, unseemly experiments!" She declared.

"Eh," I shrugged, "Nothing major actually _happened_. I mean yeah, we got thrown in a cage, but most of what we went through was being stuck behind Plexiglas and having to listen to the old guy just drone on and on. You though, you were practically kidnapped and dragged along. Did Croc even tell you why he wanted you along?"

Her expression had steadily softened, like she was surprised I thought her night was turning out worse than mine, and abruptly she pulled out the book she'd hit Rook with earlier. Silently, she thrust it to me, and I glanced at the cover. _Legends of the Lycanthrope: A Study on the History of Werewolves_.

"Croc is sweet," I said with a wince, "But sometimes he thinks a little old school when it comes to me."

"Pardon my forwardness," she said abruptly, "But what is there between you two? Croc said you were very important to him."

Thank God I managed not to blush. "I could ask you the same thing," I returned coolly, "What's up with you and Lance?"

She pulled a face and made a noise like she had swallowed something prickly. "There is nothing whatsoever between Mr. Pendragon and I!"

"Honey, I can smell the change in your body chemistry when you lie," I huffed, "Just be honest with me and I'll be honest with you."

She made that strangled noise in her throat again and I raised my eyebrows in challenge. She went really quiet and her face darkened in a blush. HA! Knew it!

"If you must know," she began in a rather dignified way, "I find myself quite attracted to Mr. Pendragon, and well...I-I think he would be an ideal b-boyfriend."

"But? I'm sensing a 'but' in there."

"But on our first d-date, he admonished me for reading literature on werewolves. And yet he failed to mention that he happens to be one!"

"Don't you think you're overreacting? After all, being Lycanthian isn't exactly something you just wanna spill on the first date. I mean, how would you have responded if he _had_ just come out and told you on the first date that he's a werewolf?"

Jeanette blinked, stunned, and fell quiet again. Yeah, she probably hadn't thought of it from that angle before. I could concede the point that it would have been better if she had found out another way, preferably if Lance had gotten the chance to tell her himself, but still. She ducked her head, probably thinking about what I'd said. Couldn't blame her; she looked like the type who was used to correcting people, not _being_ corrected.

"You asked what there was between Croc and me?" I prompted and she jerked her head up in shock, knocking her glasses half-off. She unconsciously adjusted them as she nodded at me, and I sighed. "Well, I'll stick to what I said and tell you."

"Are you romantically involved?" She demanded.

" 'Romantically involved'?" I echoed her. "Who the heck says that any more? Ugh...well, sort of. I mean...it's complicated."

"Oh, how mind-boggling. I couldn't _possibly_ have guessed." Her voice took on a sarcastic, blunt edge.

I tossed her a look before continuing. "We met the first time I was thrown in Arkham. We both escaped, just more out of luck at the same time as each other than anything. I followed him to the sewers. After a while, he agreed to take me on as a partner-in-crime. Neither of us really trusted each other for a long time, at first. We didn't really know one another and we both figured that each other was just looking out for our own interests. But I guess after a while, we just sort of became friends. We got to know each other and trust one another. And well...recently it's become more than that." I finished lamely.

Silence fell, and I began to feel seriously awkward under Jeanette's stare. Her face shifted expressions quite a bit as she thought, and I nearly broke out into a cold sweat. Call it weird, but I was actually getting nervous at the idea she might not approve. Finally, she crossed her arms and nodded slowly.

"Well?" I asked.

"Your feelings for him sound far more genuine than what many women feel for men they are merely attracted to. Besides," she added with a small smile, "All good relationships are like a rare, good wine. They only get better with time."

"And you've been in how many relationships to claim that as your basis of opinion?" I snorted, and her cheeks flushed a dark pink.

"None," she admitted in a pouting tone, "But I have read plenty to know what does and doesn't consititute a good, healthy relationship. And I know that's what I want."

"Then you should really give Pendragon a second chance. He's a good guy, and he cares about you."

"...perhaps."

"I mean it, Jeanette. At least talk to the guy."

Her haughty, stubborn expression wavered.

"Hey, if you don't do it for him or the chance you two could at least still end up together, at least do it for me." I spread my hands, chuckling awkwardly. "Come on, I risked my entire rep just to come over here and have a girl talk with you."

Jeanette cocked an eyebrow, trying not to smirk. "Very well," she said in a carefully controlled voice, "For you, then."

I couldn't keep myself from grinning. "You know, you're not so bad, Jeanette."

"Of course I'm not. After all, I'm a librarian."

We didn't have much to say after that, and a few more minutes passed, but this time the silence was relaxed, full of a mutual understanding between the two of us. And it was kind of odd, but I think we almost became friends during that conversation.

However, the solitude was soon broken by none other than Freddie. Little idiot came prancing around the corner, headphones in and singing along despite his tin ear. If I were in full werewolf form, my fur would be bristling and my ears lying flat. Ever hear a bunch of mangy stray cats breeding? Yeah, that's what it sounded like.

"Touch me, fict-ion-al giiirrrrl; tell me you're heeere to staaaaayyyy~ Never, ever, run a-a-awaaaaayyyy~ OOOHH! Thirteen chapters in a sleepless niiiiight~ Written so ba—ad but it feels so ri-hiiiiight!"

"Ahh..." Jeanette remarked, crossing her arms and looking highly unimpressed. "That explains it a bit more. He must have terrible luck trying to get a date, let alone a girlfriend."

"Huh. So Freddie can read. In that case, he'd better savor that sleepless night, 'cause thirteen chapters is probably all that boy is _ever_ gonna get." I remarked.

Without warning, Jeanette snorted and began snickering, clutching at her sides.

"Did you _intend_ to say it that way?" She managed to ask before losing her voice to her laughing. It took me a second to catch onto her train of thought, then I started laughing too.

"No! Hahahaaa, your mind is dirtier than I thought, girl!"

"Comes from being around a couple of my younger cousins too often," she chuckled, hefting the werewolf book into the air, "And if you find that amusing, then watch this!"

She turned where she sat, balancing the book on its spine in her hand, and chewed her tongue as she aimed at Freddie.

Alright. Maybe we _were_ friends after all.


	19. The Unswayable Mr. Pendragon Is Swayed

[Lance's POV:]

I felt hollow, numb.  The world around me seemed surreal and cold, and devoid of any true color.  Every step I took felt heavy, and my legs and feet were as lead.  I hung my head and allowed my shoulders to slump as I followed Gerard back to the plane.  To think, a short time ago, I would have been worried and ecstatic in equal tandem to see Jeanette Harker show up at Dorian's lab.  I had been shocked when she arrived in the company of Killer Croc and his men, and enchanted when she had bravely faced down Dorian and gotten him to acquiesce to her demands.

And now she hated me.

It wasn't as though I would never have told her my secret.  I had tried dating women before, but none of them were serious prospects for a match that would be more permanent.  Since the moment I had met her, I sensed something about Jeanette was different, special in a way that I could tell here, _here_ was finally a woman who I could have a serious relationship with.  And it had occurred to me that once we had been in a relationship for a substantial amount of time, I would have to tell her about my lycanthropy.  A woman of such intelligence as Miss Harker would likely have found out on her own anyway, but it woudl be a show of trust to tell her of my own accord.

Never had I dreamed circumstances would fall so chaotically that she would learn of my secret in any other manner, and so soon, too.

"Lance?" Said a voice to my side.  "Bro?  Hey, are you alright?"

I shook my head, not even able to bring myself to look at him, knowing the book imprint on the side of his face would only make me more upset.

"She hates me." I muttered dully.  "She _hates_ me."

"Bro, it's gonna be okay." Robert said in perhaps the most comforting voice he could manage.  "It's...it's just a little setback, that's all.  Stuff like this happens all the time.  You'll make it through."

"Don't lie to me," I mumbled, hanging my head lower and watching the path move beneath my feet as I walked, "You saw how she handled all this.  There's no chance she'll ever speak to me again, let alone ever consider going on another date with me."

"So the coffee thing _was_ a date!"

" _Mister_ Greene!" Gerard snapped ahead of us, pausing long enough to glare over his shoulder.  "Too _soon_!"

"What about you, Gerard?" I asked wearily as we approached the jet.  It registered faintly at the back of my mind that we needed to check on the pilot, but it was a fleeting thought that faded quickly.  "Surely you must have _something_ to say on the matter."

He tapped away at the Mobile Security System Menu he had pulled from his vest pocket, not looking at either of us as he used the device to open the jet and lower the boarding ramp.  "A servant has no opinions, Mr. Pendragon." He replied curtly.

"Gerard Montaine," I huffed in exasperation, "We are _not_ living in Victorian London.  You can tell me."

"Canadians." Robert muttered to me, pointing an index finger to his head and miming a scew loose.

"I heard that," Gerard said dryly, tossing him a poisonous look, "And quite frankly Mr. Pendragon, I have always been of the opinion you love too deeply, too easily, and too quickly.  You are overreacting to Miss Harker's overreaction."

"But Gerard!" I protested as we walked up the ramp into the plane, "You misunderstand what I am expressing!  Dost thou not see with thine eyes?  Jeanette is a woman I could spend the rest of my life with!"

"Lance, you're slipping into Shakespearian again." Robert hissed behind me.  It always irritated him when I did, and lately I'd been trying to avoid reverting to using it, but in that moment I hardly cared.

"You wanted my opinion sir, and I gave it." Gerard replied heavily before moving toward the cockpit of the plane to check on the pilots.  I sighed and let my shoulders sag even farther.  He had a point.  I turned in the opposite direction, dragging my feet as I moved to find one of the reclining seats in the passenger cabin.

"Lance?" Robert asked.  I ignored him, pushing one of the seats into the reclining position.  I climbed into it, attempting to curl into a ball the way I used to as a child.  I still felt hollow and numb, and like the color had all been sucked out of the world, leaving it cold and gray.  I shut my eyes tightly, resisting the urge to howl in mourning.

"Come on, man.  It's not the end of the world."

"Rook.  Please just shut up and wake me when we get home..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite possibly the shortest chapter for any fic in any fandom, that I've ever written. The mind boggles.


	20. Not Quite Desperate Measures

[Lance's POV:]

I spent the next four days confined to the small couch in my office.  I ate only when Gerard insisted on it, and only rose on occasion to use the restroom.  Never before in my entire life had I felt so pathetic and worthless, and part of me wished I could just vanish into the couch and never be seen again.  Had I fallen in love with Jeanette Harker already?  It was a possibility that hurt me, given how angry she had gotten with me, and that made me feel even more pathetic.  To fall in love with a woman I barely knew!

I had received a phone call from the family manor once in those four days, and was unsurprised it was from my younger sister.  Apparently she had been taken to Arkham Asylum, only to escape the next night, with some other inmates in tow.  And now they were all at our family manor, and possibly using their new found illegal freedom to wreak some havoc.  Guen had pressed the issue, as though hoping to illicit some harsh reaction from me, and I half-wondered if Gerard had called her first and put her up to this.  I told her I did not care what she did and that I wanted to die, then hung up.  She called back a few times in the days following, but I never answered.  I could not.

Because I could not get Jeanette Harker out of my mind.

The fifth day dawned, and Gerard was furious.

“Mr. Pendragon, I must insist that you cease this effortless pining and return to work!  Nothing will be done at this point, and you're going to waste away, with the direction you're going!”

“You've been doing all the work, Gerard.” I murmured, turning away from him to face the couch pillows.  “Don't act like you dislike having all that work thrown on you.  You're practically married to it.  And besides, I wouldn't mind wasting away into dust on the wind.”

“That is not the point, Mr. Pendragon!  It's the principle of the thing!” He protested, and I felt a jerking tug on my long hair.  “You must get on your feet again and stop wasting away like this!  You have a life, you know!”

“What good is a life when I have no livelihood?” I replied, burying my face against a pillow.  “My life is boring, stuffy parties where I must strike up business deals, filing paperwork, and hoping that my coffee isn't scalding when it finally gets to me.”

“Your life—,” Gerard snapped, giving another yank on my hair, “Is running the business empire that your father left behind and living up to his legacy as you are expected to.”

“And what good will that do anyone if I do not have someone to share it with?  Gerard, Miss Harker brightens up my day and keeps life interesting.”

“The woman is crazy.  I daresay if she shows any more signs of insanity, we shall have to call her in and have her admitted to Arkham.”

“It would still be a way of keeping life interesting.”

The hold on my hair released and I heard a slap of flesh against flesh.  “Mr. Pendragon, you are impossible sometimes!”

I raised my head and looked behind me, not surprised to see Gerard's hand covering most of his face.  “Lycanthropy probably has something to do with a person's stubbornness.” I sighed.

I had been expecting him to react as he typically did, to protest and say that I was not allowed to use my 'condition' as an excuse to for any of my more irksome behavior.  But to my surprise, his eyes popped open wide, and he slowly turned a look at me, one I wasn't quite able to read accurately.

“You know something Mr. Pendragon, on second thought, just stay right there.”

I was only too happy to comply.  A moment later, he had left the room, a determined air to his stride, and I began to drift off, wishing I could fall asleep and never wake up again.  Miss Harker's face filled my thoughts as I tried to dream, and my heart began to ache.  Had I bothered to focus on anything other than how I was feeling, perhaps I would have paid attention to my senses and detected what exactly my head servant was up to.

As it was, I didn't, and close to half an hour later, two sharp scents reached my nose.

The thick, musky scent of another werewolf and the stale, grave-dirt odor of a vampire.

The door to the office slammed open and I rolled over on the couch in surprise.  Eva and Robert both stormed inside, looking alternately angry and exasperated.  I eased myself up on my elbows, half-laying and half-sitting on the couch, raising my eyebrows.  If Gerard had called these two in on my behalf, he was getting desperate.  I was about ready to say so, when Robert practically bounced and settled his backside down on my legs, and Eva seated herself on the coffee table, both of them glaring at me.

“I take it this isn't a social visit.” I remarked after a moment.  They exchanged a look.

“Is he trying to be funny?” Eva asked.

“I hope so,” Robert answered, “I've been trying to train him to have a sense of humor for years now!  My mission will be a success if that's what he's doing.”

“What do you two want?” I sighed, leaning back and crossing my arms.  I already knew why they were there, at least where Gerard's hand in the matter was concerned, but I still wanted them to tell me why in their own words.  Without warning, Eva's hand shot out and she gave my ear a sharp pinch with nails that were longer than they had a right to be.  I yelped before I could stop myself and she gave me a rough shake.

“What the hell is going on with you, Lance?” She demanded.  “Do I have to give you lessons on how to be a proper lycan?”

“Possibly.” I whimpered, trying not to let tears leak from my eyes.  Damn, her nails hurt!

“You idiot!” She groaned loudly, releasing my ear none-too-gently, and I bounced against the cushions from her force.  “Why are you doing this, you big baby?”

“He's got the hots, and he's getting rejected.” Robert answered for her, nodding his head and crossing his arms in a way he probably assumed made him look rather knowledgeable.  “I know what you're going through, bro.  Been there a ton of times before.  What you need is scotch.”

“No, what he needs is to man up!” Eva snapped.  “For God's sake, man, you're a werewolf!  Act like one!  Don't just go off and mope yourself to death with your tail between your legs!”

“ _That's_ a mental image.” Robert muttered.

“How in the world am I supposed to take this?” I asked, spreading my arms helplessly.  “Jeanette hates me, and chances are likely any attempts made on my part to talk to her again will simply be shot down.”

“I don't think that's the case, Lance.” Eva responded, a little swiftly and confidently.  “I think she'll give you another chance.  She's had some time to cool down now.”

“How are you so sure?” I muttered, and she gave my ear another sharp pinch.

“Quit questioning this crap and stop it with this pathetic moping, you overgrown pup!” She snarled.  “You're a man!  And you're not just a man, you're a freaking werewolf man!”

Robert made a noise that sounded unerringly like a stifled snicker.

“And,” Eva continued, nostrils flaring in a way that was utterly intimidating, “Jeanette Harker is your woman!  Neither of you wants to admit that, but it's the truth!  Now!  Get off your whiny ass, march over to that phone, and you _call_ her!”

Between her and Robert, they heaved me up and off the couch faster than I would have thought possible, and I only barely managed to right myself as I flew through the air, clumsily trying to dance until I found my balance.  I turned and looked at them both, feeling more than a little defeated.

“But what am I even going to say?”

“Tell her you love her, man!” Robert answered.

“Tell her you're sorry!” Eva snapped.

“Woo her with your dead poet lingo.”

“Just ask her out on a date to make up for all the craziness.”

“Ask her out in dead poet lingo so she swoons.”

“Don't chicken out on this, just tell her you were wrong to keep secrets.”

“Dead poet lingo, bro!”

Eva turned and gave him a golden-eyed glare, then fixed her stare on me.  “You're not going to mope and play oh-woe-is-me the rest of your life, Pendragon.  Get on the phone, apologize, ask her out, and keep working at it until you two wind up getting married and having pups.”

I felt my face flush with heat.  “Miss Eva!” I squawked, scandalized.

“I want nieces and nephews.  Sue me.” She said with a lazy shrug.

“I second that.” Robert threw in.  I watched them both for a moment, then sighed, turning away so they wouldn't see my weak smile.

“Thank you two.” I murmured, reaching for the phone on the wall.


	21. No Call-Screening

[Jeanette's POV:]

Settling back into my townhouse apartment and my work routine after assisting a super-criminal in a search-and-rescue on the island of a mad scientist seemed a little...dull in a way. Despite my anger at the time, the whole thing had also held an element of thrill and excitement of sorts. In hindsight, it certainly could qualify as an adventure by some measures. One that could easily fit into a book of course, the sort I'd been reading since childhood.

But coming to that realization worried me.

Was I losing it? Had I slowly been going crazy since that first encounter with the Joker and now I was beginning to snap? Or was my normal, quiet little life not enough for me any more? I, Jeanette Harker, had befriended criminals and consorted with werewolves. Was I going to start preferring their company to that of my books?

“Augh...” I groaned on the fourth day after the incident with Croc and Eva and Pendragon. “Jeanette, you're over-analyzing this whole thing. Just...find a book, get some apple cider or something, sit down, and _read_.”

The trouble there was trying to pick one book from my collection, but this is the curse of every bibliomaniac. After a moment or two of digging on a shelf of classics, my eye fell on _Treasure Island_. I frowned a moment in hesitation, then gave in. There at least, was an adventure I knew would not run the risk of ending with my death. I grabbed the book, brewed a cup of tea, and settled into the couch with the intent of getting lost in a beloved, familiar story.

But I had barely gotten more than two pages in before the phone ringing interrupted my reading. I glanced up, feeling my nerves already beginning to fray, and sighed in futility.

“Yes, I suppose I _am_ losing it. One of these days I should probably look into therapy.” I muttered to myself. “At least anger management therapy, if nothing else.”

The phone rang over and over insistently, and I groaned when the caller ID revealed it to be my mother on the other end of the line. Well, there was no avoiding her for eternity.

“Hello...?” I murmured as I answered the call.

“Jeanette, honey?”

“Hey, Mum.”

“Jeanette Marie Harker, I haven't heard from you in weeks! Where have you been? Why haven't you answered any of my calls? You could have been sick, or homeless, and I wouldn't know! You could have been dead, for all I knew!”

_You have no idea_. I thought wryly.

“After all, that horrible maniac's escaped from Arkham again—“

“ _Which_ horrible maniac, mother?”

“—and he could be anywhere! Jeanette, I'm worried for you! Living all by yourself in that tiny little apartment in this city...”

“I'm not entirely alone, Mum.” I replied, feeling a touch defensive. “I mean, Jesse and Cat visit me often.”

There was a pause, then my mother's shrill, hysteric voice went cold.

“Oh, yes. Your relatives on your _father's_ side.” She said frostily, and I allowed myself a scowl. My mother had been ever so bitter since the divorce, and bringing up any of my Macallister relations was a good way to get her irritated. “Well, that's better than _nothing_ , I suppose.”

“They're family.” I tried to remind her, but I may as well have had a wall for conversation, for all that she heard what I was saying.

“I wish you at least had a _boyfriend_ or something real, Jeanette. Someone who could protect you, so you're not living alone.” She sighed. Several thoughts went through my mind then, and I tried to squash down the most obvious one, involving Lance Pendragon at the mention of that “boyfriend” word. I rolled my eyes at the “something real” bit, and part of me swelled indignantly at the thought that my own mother considered me totally helpless simply because I was living by myself.

“How is Michelle?” I asked coolly, and she went dead quiet for a moment.

“She's fine.” Came the evasive answer. “Doing well, of course. I wish you two would start talking again. I hate playing your go-between, Jeanette.”

“You're lucky I talk to _you_ , Mother!” I snapped, finally losing my short temper. “Years and years of shoving down our throats that if we got pregnant as teens that we should take responsibility for our mistakes and do the right thing, and then the second Michelle gets pregnant, you just let Grandma push her to get an abortion?”

She went totally quiet again, and I had a guess that she was flinching away from the phone. Serve her right.

“Would you say that's not somewhat hypocritical of you?” I hissed, seething.

“It was.” She murmured quietly. “Truthfully, Grandma did not push Michelle as much as I did. I was still bitter about your father leaving. I didn't want to put up with Michelle's pregnancy or helping her raise a baby while I was still trying to look after the both of you.”

This was something I had never heard before. My stomach roiled and I had to hold back an involuntary gag.

“Jeanette?”

“Then maybe it shouldn't be Michelle that I shut out,” I said, shaking, “Maybe I ought to shut out _you_. I cannot _believe_ you, Mother.”

“Jeanette, don't be ridiculous! You would have been an aunt at the age of fifteen.” She answered impatiently.

“And yet, you never stopped to ask _me_ if maybe I was excited by the prospect. You never stopped to ask if maybe Michelle and her boyfriend had been trying to talk about _really_ taking responsibility between them and being parents.”

Again, I was met with silence, and this time, I had had enough.

“Good _bye_ , Mother.” I snapped, ending the call. It was with a heavy heart I sank back onto the couch, feeling numb and not knowing what to think. It wasn't an uncommon thought in my mind that perhaps I had been unfairly giving the cold shoulder to my elder sister all these years, but to have that confirmed was worse. I felt sick to my stomach with guilt and disgust. I didn't want to completely disrespect or think ill of my mother, but now it was harder than ever.

I wasn't sure how long I sat there, staring at nothing and brooding. Perhaps it was only minutes, maybe it was hours. But the ring of the phone again interrupted my thoughts, and I stared at it for a moment, wondering. Surely my mother wasn't calling back in hopes I would answer and the conversation would pick back up. I picked up the phone to check the caller ID, and found a number I didn't recognize. For a moment, I considered not answering at all, but _then_ what would I do? Go back to brooding? I hit the answer button, bringing the phone up to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Miss Harker?” Pendragon's voice spoke clearly over the phone, freezing me on the spot. “Are you there?”

“Would I have answered if I hadn't been?”

“Ahh. Er, right.” He said awkwardly. “Stupid of me...wasn't thinking...Look, Miss Harker, I've called to apologize to you.”

“Don't,” I answered, sighing as the tension left me. “You shouldn't have to apologize. You had a right to keep your secrets, Lance. If anything, _I_ should be apologizing to _you_. I overreacted and directed all of my anger and frustration upon you when you did not deserve it. Please, forgive me.”

The line went dead silent for several moments.

“Lance? Mister Pendragon, are you still there?”

“Oh, y-yes, yes.” He stuttered quickly. “Sorry, I was stunned for a moment. You did not have to apologize, milady. But I accept your apology nonetheless and I forgive you wholeheartedly.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet,” he said warily, “Apologies are not the only reason I've called and bothered you.”

“Oh?” I prompted. “Then pray tell, please do continue, Mister Pendragon.”

“Miss Harker, if the events of the weekend are past us, would you consider embarking on a date with me Friday evening?”

“'Embarking?'” I echoed, giving a small snort of laughter.

“Ah, right. 'Barking.' Poor choice of words on my part.”

I bit my lower lip, trying not to smile. I of course, found it ironic because of _Treasure Island_ , but for now I would let him think what he wanted. He was cuter that way, anyhow.

“It's perfectly fine, Lance.”

“But...will you? Consider a date with me, that is?” He asked.

“Perhaps.” I answered noncommittally. “Give me a reason why I _should_ consider it.”

“A reason?” He echoed.

“Yes, a reason. Convince me of your intentions.”

He abruptly went quiet, stammering a little, then hissed something I couldn't quite hear to some other person. His butler, perhaps? But at last he seemed to compose himself, clearing his throat delicately. And then he said something I had not been expecting.

“She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed,” he spoke gently, his voice as soothing as it had been the first time I met him, “She is woman, and therefore to be won.”

“Shakespeare?” I guessed in surprise.

“From 'Henry.'” He confirmed, and I paused, feeling my cheeks burn.

“Miss Harker?”

“Haven't I told you to call me Jeanette?”

“Y-yes, Jeanette.”

“When were you thinking of having this date, and where?”

“Ah-ah-um...” He stuttered again. “F-Friday night? Six in the evening?”

“That would work.” I answered.

“SEE, bro?!” Another voice, slightly muffled, came over the phone. “Told you your dead poet lingo gets the ladies every time.”

“Be _quiet_ , Robert!” Lance hissed, and I heard something that sounded rather like a punch being thrown and hitting something.

“Was that your unwashed vampire friend?” I asked.

“Yes.” He answered with a huff. “Do you like Italian, Miss Harker?”

“Who doesn't?” I chuckled.

“Mio's, then? Near City Hall?”

“Mio's? I can hardly afford—“

“My treat.” He cut me off. “After all, I feel obligated.”

“Very well.” I said, a grin spreading across my face. “Mio's at six on Friday. Your treat. I look forward to it, Lance.”

“Thank you, Jeanette.” He replied.

“Thank _you_ ,” I answered. “I hate to cut this call short, but I have to call my sister and talk with her. You don't mind, do you?”

“Of course not. Actually, I should call _my_ sister as well. She's probably been causing havoc up at the mansion with her unsavory friends, knowing her. And I refuse to have the place looking a shambles, as I would like to show you around my home.”

I arched my eyebrows, feeling a little wary again.

“Oh. Of-of course.”

“I shall see you on Friday, Miss Harker. Until then, I bid you _adieu_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it vaguely interesting I've gotten flack for this chapter under the accusation that Jeanette is "misogynistic-minded" over the matter of her sister's abortion, when the bigger issue I think people aren't picking up on is that her anger is over the fact her mother did something she felt was hypocritical and flew in the face of everything Jeanette and Michelle had pounded into their heads growing up. But, y'know. Oh well. Take from it all what you will.


	22. Paging Pendragon Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where the attempt at a paraquel between the two stories was supposed to come into play, but circumstances prevented that from happening as I had so wished. Regardless, we get a cameo from one of my other characters, on the "Twisted Souls" side of things.

[Lance's POV:]

I could hardly believe it.  My heart leaped as I finished my call with Jeanette Harker.  She had agreed to a date with me!  I half-wanted to shape-shift into my lycanthian form and run around chasing my own tail in joyous exuberance.

“Well?” Robert asked the second I hung up the phone.  I let out a heavy sigh, turned, and smiled at both he and Eva.

“She said yes.” I answered with a grin.

“She did?” Eva said, grinning back at me, her expression brightening.

“See?   _See_?  I _knew_ it was going to work!” Robert remarked smugly.  “I'm telling you, Lance, your dead poet lingo did the trick.”

“Shut up, you idiot.” She huffed at him.  “Jeanette said yes.  This means that now we've got some work to do.”

“Work?” I echoed.  Now things were getting confusing again.  What was she talking about?  What 'work' was she referring to?

“Yes, work.” Eva repeated with a firm nod.  “You may have gotten her to agree to a date, but now you've got to be trained how to take a girl out on a date.”

“Yeah, like a real man.” Robert threw in.  “One that actually regularly says 'balls.'”

“Wrong.” She corrected him.  “Like a real werewolf.”

“You're serious?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Wait...there's a specific way werewolves got on dates?” Robert asked, skeptical.

“There's a proper way to act on dates for all lycanthians.” Eva spoke in a knowledgeable way.  “And I'm going to train you in this dying art, because God willing, we're going to see to it that Jeanette becomes your mate.”

I could feel my face start to burn and squared my shoulders indignantly.  “I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Eva.” I muttered.  “It always makes me feel like you have a certain amount of expectation for whatever may come of this venture.  Honestly, is it not better that we leave such things up to the whims of fate?”

“Fate doesn't always move fast enough to keep up with us.” She replied with a fierce look.  “Vampire, go fetch the butler.  We've got some training to do.”

***

Two hours passed with me barely keeping up with what Eva taught me about the courting customs of our kind, and at the very most I wound up with quite the headache.  More than one glance at Robert showed he shared my sentiments.

“No, you can't go for any moves like that, Rook.” Eva said when he made a rather coarse suggestion.  “Maybe for a good chunk of bitten male werewolves who still remember what it's like to be human.  But that's not what we're doing here with Lance.”

“Not sure why.” He grumped at her.  “I mean, it's not like he was just born a werewolf like you are.  He's a mutant; his 'werewolf virus' was something he contracted from a freaking _test tube_.”

“Technically werewolves,” she began in a huff, “are bitten.  Lycanthians are born.”

“Aren't you all technically the same thing?”

“Lycans have easier transformations that have nothing to do with the moon, and more control over ourselves, and healing isn't as painful for us.”

“Then technically Lance isn't really either one, by those terms!”

“From what we can tell,” I interjected as gently as I could, “My...condition is actually truly closer to true lycanthian nature than a lycanthropy infection.  Nothing about my transformations is painful or tied to a lunar cycle, and I think even you have played witness to the fact I can control myself easily when shape-shifted.”

“Yeah, but you heal almost instantly.” Robert protested.  “Eva doesn't.”

“Hence, I do have a difference.”

“You're still going to be treated like a lycan proper.” Eva responded, looking somewhat miffed.  I gave a ragged sigh, looking away from the little charts and notes she had doodled awkwardly, and buried my face in my hands, massaging my temples.  This minor deliberation had nothing to do with preparing myself to have a date with Jeanette.

“Please, can we just take a break for right now, you two?” I asked wearily.

“I agree with Mister Pendragon!” Gerard snapped.  He had flicked the television on earlier, and had been looking for an excuse to turn up the volume at some point.  “This is getting wearisome fast, and as much as I would like to see him succeed, we all could use a quick breather.”

Eva and Robert resorted to mutinous grumbling, and I glanced up as Gerard slowly raised the volume on the T.V.  Unsurprisingly it was on the news, with reporter Vicki Vale covering a number of stories all at once.  As she spoke, an image suddenly appeared on-screen to the side of her face, depicting a man with ghost-white skin, long green dreadlocks, and wild red eyes.  A chill ran down my spine without warning, and I waved a hand quickly to prevent Gerard from switching the channel.

“Among this breakout, the primary concern of the police force is the escape of the Joker,” Vicki said, worry in her eyes.  “Once again, the crazy crime clown has evaded capture and police efforts, and his current whereabouts are unknown.  Other escapees include The Penguin, Clayface, and Spellbinder.  Still no word on whether this breakout is at all related to the earlier escape of three inmates, including the criminal known as Wraith.”

A second image rolled onscreen, taking up half the space of the Joker's picture, and my gut twisted.  The picture was a young woman with dark hair and green eyes and two large blue wings that I knew all too well.

“Dude!” Robert squawked, just inches from my ear.  “Is that your _sister_?”

“Unfortunately,” I groaned, “Yes, it would appear so.”

“Did nobody else notice how hot she's gotten?”

I tossed him a withering glare.

“I mean, be-because I didn't.” He said quickly, leaning as far back as possible.

“Do I even want to know why your sister has eagle wings?” Eva asked, crossing her arms.  “And really blue ones, at that.”

“No.” I answered in clipped tones.  “What I would like to know, is how in the world did she get herself admitted to Arkham Asylum in the first place and why did she then break out?”

“Well it's not like you can just ask her, right?”

“Actually...it's _exactly_ like that.  Gerard, can you find me a handset phone?”

He rose from the couch without a word and immediately searched the room before finally returning, holding out a handset phone.

“If you are hoping to contact her via cell phone, sir,” he remarked, “Might I remind you that we saw her smash quite a few of those?  It is very unlikely she still even has a cell phone.”

“I'm not calling her old cell number,” I answered, hoping Robert wouldn't make an ill-humored joke about Arkham cells, dialing a familiar number that I hadn't required calling in years, “I'm calling the manor.”

“The manor?” He repeated in surprised.

“Manor?” Eva echoed, raising her eyebrows.  “What manor?”

“Pendragon manor, duh.” Robert said as though it was perfectly obvious.  “What, you didn't know Lance-man has a family manor?  It's like, a patented fact on the rich warning label that they automatically come with family manors.  Batteries not included, but hey, they get freaking manors.”

I put the phone to my ear, counting the rings, and shot him a glare.  “Robert, please shut up.”

I finished speaking just in the nick of time, as someone picked up on the other end of the line.

“Pendragon manor.” Chirped a voice I didn't recognize, clearly mocking.

“Who is this?” I demanded.

“Um...who is _this_?” The voice demanded.

“A very short-tempered werewolf who has gone two days without a proper meal and four days without a decent night's sleep.” I let a snarl edge into my voice.  “Put Guenhivyre Pendragon on the phone, _now_.”

“Oh.  Oh, crap.  Uhh...who do I tell her is calling?”

“Her big brother.”

There was a strangled yelp, and a distant second voice shouted for me to hang on for a moment.

“Sir, while I am unable to account for your sleep patterns,” Gerard began, “I've seen to it that you've been eating pr—“

“I need to exaggerate just a tad, Mister Montaine,” I answered curtly, covering the mouthpiece of the phone to avoid being overheard, “I have a feeling that whatever idiots my sister is consorting with won't cooperate willingly otherwise.  Really though, I do feel a bit peckish.  Fetch me a snack?”

He rolled his eyes and swept off, doubtless weary from my high maintenance mood-swings.  I uncovered the mouthpiece, listening to the white noise on the other end for a moment.  What in the world was my sister up to, anyway?  I knew she had always been a little...edgy, but getting herself thrown into Arkham and then breaking out was something else entirely.  I waited only a few more moments before I finally heard shuffling on the other end of the line.

“Hello...?” Came my sister's hesitant voice.

“Guenhivyre.” I addressed her briskly.

“Oh...oh, hey Lance...” she began, and if she had been hesitant before, she was wary now, “Hey, uh...what's up?  Why you calling?”

“Oh, I couldn't help but notice the news, sister dear.  I am most surprised that you decided to simply up and an adopt a criminal lifestyle and get yourself admitted to the local mental institute.”

“...Lance, I know this looks bad, but please don't freak out or anything on me.”

“I'm not freaking out, sister dear.  Not yet.  But I shall admit to having some difficulty in trying to reach you.  And then it occurred to me I should think to call home.  I wasn't actually sure you would be there, but I suppose my _instincts_ were on the money this time.” I said coolly.  “And I cannot help but wonder if you have invited your criminal acquaintances into the family manor.”

“That's a...that's a valid concern.” She mumbled.

“Did you just decide to open the place up to all the criminally insane?”

“Well, no...that wasn't what I was going for.” She answered.  “But, uh...it's kind of hard to drive them away now.  I mean, what with that goddamn giant tea cup out in the middle of the front yard.”

“Giant tea cup?” I repeated.  My God, was she on drugs too?

“Yeah, uh...don't ask.” She answered, her voice getting a bit of an edge to it.

“Are you sober?”

“What kind of dumb question is that, dude?  Of course I'm sober.”

“Who answered the phone?”

“Not anyone important,” she said quickly.  “Do you wanna tell me why you're just deciding to interrogate me, Lance?  Because I'm not sure how much of the news you've seen, but some crap's going down, and right now I'm kind of in the middle of something important.  Like, trying to prevent a bloodbath from happening kind of important.”

“What's happening on the news?” I asked, feeling somewhat testy.

“The city's threatening to go into some kind of lockdown or something.  I'm not sure why—“

“And it can't possibly have anything to do with the fact that you and nearly ten or more criminals are running amok in the city?”

“Har-dee-har.” She snorted at me.  “With the exception of Joker, I'm not sure we warrant a city-wide lockdown.  No, I think it's gotta do with something else.  Some stuff going down at City Hall and the GCPD and something.  Now, are you going to tell me why you're calling?”

“I should have thought you may have figured it out by now!” I snapped, feeling my temper bubble near the surface.  “I'm coming back home, Guen!”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.

“You're coming home?  H-here?”

“Yes.” I answered, sighing raggedly.

“I thought you liked living in the penthouse.  I thought you didn't care about this place.”

“Things change.” I answered.  “I'm coming home this weekend.  And I'm bringing my girlfriend.”

“ _Girlfriend_?” She echoed in disbelief.

“Under more normal circumstances, I would have introduced the two of you.  I imagine you would get along with her; she's a librarian.  But things have been...difficult these last couple of weeks, Guen.  I am stressed and I need to relax, away from the office.  I want to come back to the house, and I want Jeanette to see it.”

“So...I guess that means that I gotta shut this thing down, huh?”

“If you are partying or whatever the hell it is that you do with handfuls of escaped convicts, take it elsewhere.  I want none of it there when I arrive with Jeanette.  I expect the place to be in normal condition and criminal-free.  If I so much as catch any of them hanging about the place, I'm going to lose my temper, Guenhivyre.” I said as calmly as I could manage.  “Do I make myself very clear?”

“Crystal.” She said flatly.  “Thanks for calling, brother.”

“And get rid of that damn cup, would you?”

“Oh. Oh, I'm _going_ to.”

I hung up with a sigh, rubbing my temples.

Well, that was _one_ difficult obstacle taken care of.


	23. Michelle Harker

[Jeanette's POV:]

There aren't many things I would do over if I had the chance.  I believe that what we go through changes us, and if we were to talk back any of it, we wouldn't be the same people.  But if I could take back how I've treated my sister, how horribly cold and judgmental I've been toward her, I would.

I was waiting to meet Michelle outside the small, family-owned-and-run diner she worked at, hoping to catch her for just a moment on one of her fifteen-minute breaks.  I hadn't realized she had gotten a job near the library I worked at, and I wanted a chance to see her again.  I had already apologized over our brief, awkward phone call, but I wanted to do so again, in person, so she knew I was sincere.  As it stood, however, things did not seem like she would be exiting the diner any time soon.  Bracing myself, I sucked in a breath and walked inside.  It was a dingy little place with a somewhat gloomy atmosphere, and I was given to the impression the only customers present were regulars that had been probably been coming there for years.

_What a dingy place.  Years ago, Michelle would have died before ever setting foot in here._

“Sit anywhere ya like, hon.” A surly middle-aged, heavyset woman said, brushing her wispy blonde ponytail over her shoulder in irritation as she squinted between two of her menus.

“A-actually,” I replied, “I was just here to see if Michelle had a moment to talk?”

The woman glared at me skeptically.  “Yeah.  Who's askin'?” She demanded, clearing the back of her throat like she was preparing to hack up phlegm and spit it at me.  I had to resist the temptation to be just as rude back to her.  After all, I was there for a good reason.

“I'm her sister,” I answered, “Jeanette.”

The woman's eyes immediately went wide, and I heard shifting as some of the diner's regulars turned to look at me, their expressions expectant.  I glanced at a few of them, a chill running down my spine, my stomach twisting in apprehension.

“Hold on a second.” The woman said, the sour tone gone from her voice as she turned and yelled through the window into the kitchen.  “Michelle!  Get your tuckus front and center, girl!  You've got a special visitor!”

There was some scrambling and gentle crashing of dishes, followed by a voice I knew well.

“Coming, I'm coming!” My sister called, and a moment or two later a side door opened, and she bustled out, straightening her white apron, apologizing hastily for being so slow.  Then a second later she looked up and saw me, her jaw dropping.  “ _Jeanette?!_ ”

“H-hey, Michelle.” I mumbled, idly swinging my hands at my sides, unsure whether or not I ought to hug her.  But in a moment, I had little choice, as she surged forward and flung her arms around my neck, starting to cry.  Awkwardly, I hugged her back, blinking.

“Jen, you didn't have to come here!”

“I-I wanted to,” I answered shakily, trying to avoid looking at anyone, “I just wanted to tell you I was sorry...i-in person.  I felt horrible just apologizing to you over the phone.  I felt that wasn't sincere enough.”

She pulled away from me slightly, her eyes red and puffy, and I squeezed her shoulders, on the verge of tears myself.

“Michelle, I'm sorry,” I said, taking a deep breath, “I am so, so sorry for the way I've treated you over the last several years.  I was stupid and angry and I jumped to conclusions rather than hearing out your side of the story.  Please, let me try to earn your forgiveness—“

She hugged me again, cutting me off.

“Jen, I already forgave you.  Thank you, _thank you_ for coming back to me.” She sobbed, and this time, I could hear the smile in her voice.

“Of course, Michelle.” I answered, trying to keep my own voice from breaking.  “You're my sister.”

Someone began clapping.  Then the clapping grew a little louder.  I glanced up.  The other diner employees and the regulars were applauding and smiling, some of them with tears in their eyes.  The sight stole my breath, and I felt a different sort of weight upon my heart.  Had they all known?  I knew my sister had a way of endearing herself to people after a while, and it wouldn't have surprised me if her co-workers and customers all knew a lot about her.  But had she told them about the rift between us?  Had she spent years telling them she wanted to reconnect with me?  Was _that_ why they were clapping for us?

Michelle gave me another squeeze before she pulled back again, and despite the tears on her eyes, her smile lit up her face.

“My sister Jeanette, everyone.” She said by way of awkward introduction, sniffling slightly.  “I've got my sister back.”

I glanced around, feeling my face flush, and was incredibly grateful when the middle-aged woman with the ponytail dismissed Michelle for ten minutes to speak with me.  My sister pulled me to a booth in the very back of the diner, insisting that I take a seat.

“Do you want something?” She asked, wiping tears from her eyes.  “Coffee?  A soda?  Can I get you a piece of pie?”

“No, thank you.” I answered hastily, feeling rather ungainly at that moment.  “I wouldn't want you to waste your break getting me something.”

She looked for a moment as though she would insist on arguing the matter, but then she sighed, smiled weakly, and took the booth seat opposite mine.  For a moment, neither of us spoke.  I folded my hands in my lap and studied the surface of the table.  I had apologized, but now what was I to do?  I hadn't been expecting to get a window of time to really speak with her; That had been more of a wistful hope than anything.  Abruptly, Michelle cleared her throat and I looked up at her again.

“S-so...” She mumbled, twiddling her thumbs.  “You're working at the library now?”

I nodded, then gestured half-heartedly.  “And...you're working here?  I would not have believed a place like this to be your speed.” I replied, and she smiled in a wistfully sad way.

“Things change.” She murmured softly.

I managed a smile back.

“Speaking of a change,” she sighed, “I broke up with my boyfriend.  A couple of years ago actually.”

“You did?!” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself.  “I thought the two of you were—“

She cut me off with a shake of her head.  “The concept of marriage didn't suit Bryan all that well.  We always talked about it in high school, but I don't believe he thought I was serious.  Then, when I made it clear that I was serious, he bailed on me, and I found I was much happier for it.  I felt free.  I decided it was time I stopped depending on him and on Mom, and to make my own way.  I wound up here, and to be honest, Jeanette, I'm thankful for it.”

I couldn't say anything to that.  She was so...sincere.  She meant every word of it.  She hardly sounded anything like the Michelle I remember growing up with.

“But look at me, just babbling on and on,” she muttered, waving a hand dismissively, “I'm probably boring you to tears.  That, if anything, would be a waste of time.”

“No, Michelle, you're not.  It's fine.”

She gave me a sly smile, and there was an old, familiar twinkle in her eye.

“Don't lie to me, Jen.  I'm boring you, admit it.” She said briskly, and, not giving me an opening to reply, “I take it Mom called you?”

“Yes.” I answered sourly.  “Though thanks to her, here we now sit.  I wasn't sure...that we would ever talk to one another again, just you and I.”

Her expression softened.

“I hoped we would.  Honestly, I was afraid to say anything to you, Jen.  Afraid of being judged.  But I kept praying for a miracle to happen.”

“Well then, I daresay your prayers were answered.”

“Yeah,” she tilted her head to the side, eyes glassy for a moment, before she raised her eyebrows at me.  “So, who's this man you met?”

I jerked my head.  What in the _name_ of Jane Austen?

“Don't lie to me!” She said, waggling an accusing finger.  “I can tell you met a guy, and you can't hide from your big sister!  So who is he?”

“Don't change the subject, Michelle!” I spluttered.  “We're not here to discuss my dating life, we're here to reconnect with one another!”

“Yes, and this is part of reconnecting.” She insisted, looking utterly smug that she had countered my point.  “So what's his name?”

I glared at her and mumbled.

“What, Jen?  That didn't sound like a name to me.”

I grumbled and let out a sigh.  “Lance, Michelle.  His name is Lance Pendragon.”

Her eyes popped wide open.

“Lance _Pendragon_?” She blurted out.  “Jeanette, how can you just say that so _casually_?  He's _Bruce Wayne's_ business rival!”

“What do you think that has to do with anything at all?” I returned.  “I am positive there are many men in Gotham who are considered business rivals of Bruce Wayne.”

“Jeanette, Lance Pendragon is wealthy and prestigious and comes from a really proud family line.” She hissed back at me, half-leaning across the booth table.  “Do you have _any_ idea how lucky you are to have caught his attention?”

“We met because I fell off a step-ladder at work and he caught me.”

“So?  Whatever works!  My point is, Jen, do you _like_ him?”

I nodded without hesitation, my cheeks growing warm.  I _did_ like Mister Pendragon, all things considered.  Lycanthropy and all, I liked him.

“Yes.” I whispered back, looking down at the surface of the table again.  “He's charming, intelligent, kind, handsome.  What isn't there to like?”

“Are you two dating?”

“Sort of.  I mean, we have gone on one 'date' to a coffee shop, then an...unofficial boat ride, and we have a dinner date set for Friday.”

There was a sharp intake of breath and I knew I had no need to look up; I knew full well the sort of over-excited expression Michelle had, and braced myself for her inevitable scream of delight.

“Wait!  Wait right here, don't move!” Her scream instead came out as a squeak, and before I could question her, she dashed around behind the counter and vanished through a door to the back room of the diner.  I glanced at her boss, raising a questioning eyebrow, but she only shrugged helplessly back at me.  But we didn't have long to wait; Michelle was back out in moments, skidding to a stop before the booth table and whipping something out from behind her back and spritzing me in the face with it.

“Wha—augh, Michelle!” I tried to spit the sudden taste of heavy, scented chemicals out of my mouth and raised my hands to shield my face.

“Oh, calm down, Jen.” She shushed me.  “It's just body spray.  You never use anything even vaguely perfume-y.  Hold still, I need to make sure you're sprayed evenly.”

“You're going to get in trouble.” I argued, twisting away as best as I could.  “This has to violate some food safety rule!”

“I'm on break right now, remember?” She countered.  “Ahh, there we go!  Perfect!  Now, _that's_ sure to really grab Pendragon's attention!”

Considering that the smell was practically asphyxiating me, and that Mister Pendragon's lycanthropy meant his sense of smell was far stronger than any human's, I had a feeling my sister's body spray would probably frighten him off, if it didn't knock him unconscious first.

“Oh,” I coughed, “Oh, I've no doubt of that.”

“Here,” she said with a genuine smile, handing me the bottle of body spray, “Go on, take it!  Use it for your big date and think of me!”

“What?  No, Michelle!  No, this is yours!”

“Don't try to argue with me on this one, Jeanette!  I'm your sister, and may pigs fly if this isn't something I'm going to let you do on your own.  Take it, it's the least I could do for you.  And don't worry about it, I can always get more.”

My attempt at a plea fell silent.  What in the world could I say to that?  I partially wanted to refuse out of stubbornness, but Michelle was my sister, and despite my irritation, I was moved.  This gift wasn't much, but it touched my heart.  My throat constricted and I felt tears threatening to form.  I had let years pass without talking to my sister, and now here we were, and the first thing she wanted to do was help me with my dating situation.

I leaned forward and shut my eyes tightly.

“You okay, sis?  Are you sick?” She asked, concern in her voice.

I couldn't hold it in any longer.  Hot tears began to roll down my cheeks, burning trails into my skin, and something loosened in my chest as I began to sob quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was one of the few chapters I'd been wanting to write from the very beginning, once I'd sussed out there was a lot of tension between Jeanette, her mother and her sister, because I eventually wanted to resolve that matter and show that Jeanette can grow and change, the same way her sister did when she wasn't around to see it.  
> A point of note in the event anyone reading this fic ever goes to my newer stuff and Michelle Harker pops up again, I've since figured out she's actually a lesbian or at the very least, bi-with-female-preference, and the relationship with the boyfriends of the past never felt quite right.


	24. Heading Home...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter in which I attempted to allude to the paraquel between this story and its sister-story "Twisted Souls". (Again, my plans were for naught, but perhaps the later posting of everything for "Twisted Souls" will help give more insight to these chapters and they might make more sense.)

[Jeanette's POV:]

I was an emotional wreck, putting things simply.  I had not cried in public for years prior, not even when Dad had left.  But I was unable to help myself there, in that little diner.  Thankfully, the managers seemed to realize Michelle and I were having a rather tearful reunion, and were willing to excuse her for a little longer in order to talk with me some more, and escort me out.  Truth to tell, I had missed my sister and her sweet quirkiness.  I spoke with her some more about Lancelot Pendragon—though I had to be careful to avoid certain details and I did have to fabricate the “boat-outing story” somewhat—and with all of her usual charm, she kept asking all the embarrassing questions that made me squirm.  And this persisted up to the moment she walked me outside.

“So when are you going to make a move on _Mister_ Pendragon, Jen?”

“I beg your pardon!” I gasped, scandalized.  “ _Ladies_ do _not_ 'make moves!'”

She rolled her eyes.  “Of course not.” She said, in a way that told me she wasn't the least convinced.  “But in all seriousness Jeanette, don't let him get away from you.  He really _does_ sound like a gem.”

I couldn't bring myself to say anything to that.  I'm not sure I would have enjoyed seeing my sister react to me telling her that Lance made my heart beat faster, that he caused me to have strangely romantic thoughts, or that I was worried over the possibility of losing his friendship after what had transpired on Dorian's island.  Right then, those thoughts frightened even me.

“I'll do my best not to scare him off, Michelle.” I replied with a sigh, pulling my jacket on tighter.  She smiled at me, then seized the bottle of body spray and started spritzing me with it again.

“Hold still, sis!”

“Knock it off already!” I protested, trying to shield my face.  “Are you trying to _blind_ me?”

“I'm giving you THE EDGE!” She said with a dramatic flourish.  “Trust me, this stuff will save your butt!  Pendragon will be falling all over you.”

_Yes, when the aroma knocks him out._  I thought.

“Somehow, I question that.” I coughed at her.

“Stop being a doubting Thomas!” She scolded.  “Just accept the gift already!  You're always so stubborn.”

“Thank you, Michelle.” I said with a sigh and a weary smile, taking the body spray back.  She smiled and hugged me without warning, something alien and yet comforting all at once.  Shakily, I hugged her back for a brief moment, and when she pulled away, her eyes shone like she was about to cry again.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod, “I'm fine.  Just happy to be talking to you again.  Go on, Jen.  We can catch up some more later.”

After a somewhat teary goodbye, we parted ways, and I was left to begin walking through Gotham alone.  My mind started to wander, as it always did, and I allowed it to entertain me a while with thoughts of possible ways Michelle and I could begin reconnecting.  From there, my mind began slipping to thoughts of Lancelot Pendragon and what Friday night may be like.  Normally, I would have tried to stop myself from getting my hopes up too high, but I didn't bother this time.  Something about talking with my sister had me feeling like anything was possible, and that I had no cause to fret over the small details.

But my daydreaming was to be short-lived.

As I walked, the sky darkened, far more than it should have.  I glanced up with a frown; Rain had not been in the forecast.  Furthermore, the sky looked a dark red, and that worried me.  What in the world was going on?  I glanced around, looking for an electronics store.  They always had televisions on in their windows.  One of them _had_ to have the news on.

Thankfully, I was in luck.  I had just walked a block when I spotted one such store.  All of the televisions were switched to the news, and several people were crowded around already, but I managed to squeeze in regardless.  Unsurprisingly, Vicki Vale was on the scene, though it was somewhere in the city I didn't recognize.

“Reports state that Chief Angel Rojas was found dead early this morning, with several injuries indicating he had been murdered by someone exceptionally skilled with a knife.” She said in a worried tone.  “Chief Rojas's body was delivered to the Gotham police headquarters, where detectives are still trying to identify the killer.  Commissioner Gordon had _this_ to say—“

The screen switched to a shaky camera angle, focused on the harried head of the police department.  Gordon's eyes flashed behind his glasses as he walked, leaning as far away from the mics encroaching on his personal space as he could.

“No comment!” He said sharply.  “Yes, the department mourns the loss of an officer, but no further comment.   _No_ comment!”

A chill ran down my spine.  Rojas, dead?  Somehow that seemed impossible.  Sure, I was far from fond of the man, but I had seen him alive not weeks ago!  I nearly assaulted him, in fact, thanks to his coarse rudeness during the police investigation of Joker's attack on the library.  But to hear he was dead, that he had been murdered by some madman with a knife?  It felt wrong.

“Worry sweeps through Gotham with this news,” Vicki Vale returned on-screen, looking somewhat uneasy, “Especially in light of the recent break-out at Arkham.  Did Victor Zsasz escape with Joker and the rest of the missing criminals?  Why is Professor Hugo Strange not answering any questions at this moment in time?  Is Gotham facing its greatest danger yet?  I'm Vicki Vale, Gotham, and Channel 3 News will return right after this.”

For all appearances, Vicki should have gone to a commercial break.  But she had barely finished speaking before the camera focused on her suddenly jerked wildly, as though the cameraman had just decided to throw it into the air.  There was a sharp gasp from Vicki off-screen, and then all the televisions crackled with static.  My blood ran cold as the Channel 3 News suddenly showed multi-colored bars and the words “TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES,” and I realized a tense silence had fallen over the small crowd.  I sucked in a breath, hoping these people had enough sense _not_ to break into a hysterical mass panic.

“It's probably nothing.” One of the men said.  “These things have technical difficulties all the time.”

“But what was all that business with the camera and her screaming?” Someone else in the crowd challenged.

“She didn't scream!” Somebody next to me retorted.  “She just gasped.  Are you retarded?”

Carefully, I started to back away.   _THAT_ was going to get ugly fast, and I wanted no part of it.  What was going on at Arkham?  Why had all those criminals escaped?  What _were_ the police doing to contain it all?

As I stepped away, questions in my mind, I was suddenly hit with a horrifying realization.

The _Joker_ was loose in the city again.

I turned and headed for the nearest bus stop I could find.  My heart was pounding and my mind was rapidly turning into a whirlwind of terror and half-formed thoughts.

The _Joker_ was _loose_ in the city.

He held a grudge against me.

No matter what reasons he had for escaping, he was not about to forget the way I had defied him and hit him—twice—with a book.  Which meant I was sure to be a target for any plot of his devising.  And that could only end one way.

I waited at the bus stop, hoping the next bus would get there soon, twirling a lock of hair from my ponytail around my finger and chewing my lip.  I had to get home, to be safe.  Joker didn't know where I lived, after all.  And what were the chances he would find out right away?  Pretty slim, if I got to the townhouse safely and camped out there for a while without venturing outside.  But he was sure to find out eventually, and then he would hunt me down.  I had to have a good contingency plan to fall back on.

_Perhaps I could seek refuge with Lance._  My thoughts wandered a moment.   _After all, doesn't he have more than one home at his disposal?_

But that was sure to be wishful thinking.  Not to mention, I didn't want to make Lance a target, either.  Werewolf or not, he was still wealthy, and all of his money and valuables would provide a temptation for anyone.  Joker especially, as he had no qualms about killing and he probably could steal all Lance had to offer with ease.  No, I was _not_ going to endanger him if I could avoid it.

_Maybe Jesse would help me out._

I shook my head slowly, even as I thought of it.  No, knowing my cousin, however good-hearted he was, his unsavory connections meant he was most likely going to bring me more trouble.  In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he were involved in all the business going on at Arkham.  He had a knack for getting drawn into trouble like that, as though he was being yanked around by magnets.  Not to mention, his bizarre relationship with Spellbinder also had to be considered.  Even if my cousin could offer me protection from Joker, he would have difficulty protecting me from his associate at the same time.  Spellbinder did not seem inclined to violence, but...

I shook my head again, vigorously this time.  What in the world was going on?  What was _happening_ to me?  I was starting to think and act like I suffered from chronic paranoia.

_Who knows?  Perhaps I do._

It was both a frightening and sobering thought.  My mind started to empty, and I focused on steadying my breathing.  The bus would be here soon, and once it arrived, I would be on my way home, where I could better clear my mind and try to think of a back-up plan.  Getting worked up at this point would do me little good.

Minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness, and the city grew darker as night began to descend.  At some point, the light above the bus stop came on and I jumped, nearly shrieking.  Every shadow loomed threateningly, every sound was magnified and echoed in my ears, and the air grew cold as the wind hissed down the streets.

“I'm losing it.” I said to myself, my voice high and trembling.  “I'm losing it.  Come on, Jeanette, k-keep it together.  You're letting your imagination get the better of you because of what you've heard.  Th-this is no different from when I used to read horror stories in bed at night as a little girl.”

_Except it is._  A nasty voice in my head argued, sounding not unlike the green-haired girl I had seen at Arkham that one day.   _Those were books.  This time, the killer from the stories is out there for real, and he's going to come after me before too long._

I hugged my arms tightly against the bite of the wind.  There had to be _something_ I could do, something I hadn't yet thought of.  Sirens started up in the distance, faint on the wind.  I straightened where I sat.

_I could always go ask the police to help,_ I thought. _But they regularly have difficulty with the Joker as it is.  And he was easily able to kidnap Mayor Grange when he pulled that JTV nonsense.  The police could protect me, but only for so long._

I started to despair, when another thought occurred to me.

Batman!

Why hadn't I realized it before?!  The answer was _obvious_!   _Batman_ would be able to protect me if Joker came after me.

_Except I did not depart on the best of terms with him when we last encountered each other._ That nasty little voice reminded me.  I sank slightly in my guilt.  Batman would probably not be pleased with me seeking his help after I had ridiculed and slapped him, and I could not honestly blame him for that.  But surely he would at least help, because it was the right thing to do?

The bus finally pulled up next to the stop, hissing as its doors opened.  I got to my feet and boarded, relieved.

“Now all I need to do,” I whispered to myself as I took a seat and the bus started to roll forward again, “Is find a way to contact Batman.”

Once again, my mind went back to the police.  Didn't Commissioner Gordon have some modified searchlight he lit up whenever he was signaling Batman?

“Ha!  A Bat-signal!” I murmured, chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

_Wait a moment!_ My laughter died in my throat as the wheels in my head kept turning.   _That could work.  I could contact the police, ask to speak with Commissioner Gordon.  He could get in touch with Batman for me!_

“Are you okay, miss?” A gentle voice asked.  I glanced up to see a woman maybe a handful of years younger than I looking across the aisle at me.  She was pale and thin, with long, wispy, light brown hair, and wide, staring green eyes ringed with dark shadows.  A second later, I realized she was the only other passenger on the bus, save for two large men in matching hats and trench coats that were sitting in the very back.  A shudder crept down my spine.

_I feel like I've just stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone, thanks for asking._  My thoughts replied waspishly.

“I-I'm well, thank you,” I answered, vaguely puzzled, before turning to address the bus driver, “I'd like to go downtown to the Gotham City Police Department, please.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that, ma'am.” The driver called back to me.  Something about his voice mixed with the atmosphere of this bus made my skin crawl.

“Oh?” I asked, my voice going a bit higher as I stood up out of my seat.  “Why is that?  Is something wrong?  If I didn't pay the right fare—“

“Oh, no,” he cut me off, “You paid the right fare alright... _bookworm_.”

My jaw went slack as he turned and looked over his shoulder, ripping off the rubber false-face he'd been wearing.  Blood turned to ice in my veins.  I would know that hook-nosed, death-white face anywhere.

“ _You?!_ ” I shrieked, and a gigantic hand clamped over my mouth.  A second later, I was yanked off my feet by the two men in the back.  Joker's goons he had with him from his attempt on the library!   _How_ had I not recognized them before?

“You've got a one-way ride to crazy town, librarian!” Joker cackled as he slammed on the acceleration.  “ _Better fasten that seat belt!_ ”


	25. Kidnapped By A Madman

[Jeanette’s POV:]

My head was pounding when I finally woke up.  Something about this didn’t feel right.  For instance, why was I waking up to begin with?  I had _not_ fallen asleep.  If my mind was intact and working correctly, I had been _kidnapped_!

That simple thought gave me a jolt of fear and I snapped to attention, my back slamming against something rigid and metal.  My heart pounded, and I struggled to get to my feet, only…I didn’t budge.  The same result occurred when I tried to move my arms and legs.  I glanced down, breathing hard, and found I had been strapped to a metal folding chair with what appeared to be silly string.

“What in the name of _Austen?_ ” I muttered to myself.  I half-wanted to say this was someone’s sick idea of a bad joke, but then I remembered who I had been kidnapped by.

_Oh, of course._  My thoughts poured forth all the sarcasm I had been bottling up since the last weekend.   _He thinks he’s funny.  Such an absolute riot._

After a few more moments of unsavory pondering, I began to look around the room, trying to get my bearings.  Really, I had not the _slightest_ inkling where I was.  It looked like some sort of television studio, though if that was what this place had been originally, it had fallen into severe disrepair since.  Several of the light fixtures were half-hanging from the ceiling, utterly useless.  Dust covered most of what I could see, sharing space with the cobwebs.  Cardboard cut-outs sat in a handful of rows of seats, miming an audience that may have never used those chairs.  On the stage where I was strapped to the chair, there was a small tripod with a camera, one that looked like it had been recently dusted off.  Something about this set off a red flag in my mind, but I wasn’t entirely sure why.

There was a clatter somewhere I couldn’t see, and I jumped, looking around.  Off to my left, something moved in the dim light and came closer.  I tensed, expecting the Joker, but to my relief, it wasn’t him at all.

It was the peculiar girl from the bus.

“You’re awake?” She asked warily.  I saw no point in responding to that question.  Anyone with half a brain could see I was perfectly conscious, and not the least bit happy about the fact either.  Instead, I looked away and attempted to pull my hands free again.  Still there was no give in the bindings, and I huffed in frustration.

“You’re not going to have a lot of luck with that,” the girl remarked, just the slightest hint of sympathy in her voice, “Sorry.”

I looked back up at her and glared.

“Is there any particular reason you aren’t trying to help me, or are you just enjoying this?” I demanded, and she frowned back, looking slightly irritated.  Thankfully, it appeared she was fully autonomous, rather than having been twisted by the Joker into some sort of mindless toy to be pitied.  Perhaps it was her range of expression; perhaps it was the light of clarity in her green eyes.  Either way, it did not help to incline me toward being friendly with her.  She still wasn’t helping me.

“If I help you, what do you think Joker is going to do to me?” She asked.  “It would probably be the last thing I do.  And I don’t want to be killed by him.”

I couldn’t argue that, but the entire situation still felt somewhat off to me.  Why was she even here to begin with?  She didn’t strike me as being a hostage, considering she was walking around unhindered.  What exactly was going on?  I turned away from her, not sure I wanted to know _why_ she was allowed to just walk around.  My gut told me I wouldn’t like the answer.  I tried to focus on something else, but she didn’t seem ready to leave me alone.  She found a rusting, squeaky, spinning stool nearby, brought it closer, and sat down on it to watch me with her large, dark-ringed eyes.

“Am I such a fascinating hostage that you see fit to treat me like some animal in a zoo?”

“I actually know what that feels like, believe it or not,” she answered, a tad stiffly, “Having people stare at you all the time, feeling alone and locked up, scared for your life.”

I looked at her again and raised an eyebrow.  Curiously enough, she did not sound as though she were lying.  But really, how was she able to speak from experience?  She looked barely twenty, if that!  What in the world had she gone through?

“No need to glare at me like that,” she muttered, crossing her arms defensively, “I’m telling the truth.”

“Forgive me for being skeptical,” I answered dryly, “But I’m not totally inclined to trust you when the Joker is apparently just allowing you to wander free.  It would be utmost foolishness to _not_ be suspicious of something like that, especially given that he wants me dead.”

There was a twitch in the corner of her mouth, like she was trying to hide a smile of approval, and she answered, “Alright, fair enough.  Guess I wouldn’t trust me either, if I were in your position.   _Especially_ if I knew for a fact that Joker was out to kill me.  So…exactly what did you do to Joker to make him hate you so much?  You don’t _look_ like you would intentionally pick a fight with anyone or…”

“I am a librarian,” I replied stiffly, holding my head high with pride, “And you are quite accurate; typically, I am not inclined to actively offend or seek out a violent confrontation with anyone.  Lately however, I find I don’t care about that any more.  A side effect of what I have been through, more likely than not.  I do not know what your relationship to the Joker is, but he arrived at the library with flamethrowers in tow, saying he was going to burn the place to the ground.  Those books, that job, it is my _life_.  I responded the way any American typically would be expected to react and tried to defend it, and myself.  By which I mean to say, I assaulted Joker.  Twice.  With a book.   _Eragon_ , if you wish to be absolutely precise.”

She raised her eyebrows at me, stunned, but before she could make a comment, another voice echoed through the empty studio, and my skin crawled at the sound of it.

“And I _still_ haven’t forgotten about that, bookworm.  Not to mention, you were rude and wouldn’t even stop to apologize at Arkham.  Don’t you know assault is against the law?”

“Correct me if I am inaccurate in my assumption, but I was given to the impression that the law means very little to you, Joker.” I remarked evenly, staring straight ahead at the rows of audience seats as he entered the room, Punch and Judy following dutifully in his wake.

“Well, _DUH!_  Doesn’t take a _genius_ to figure that one out!” He scoffed.  “But I am gonna make you pay for that whack to the head, Miss Librarian!  You made me one very angry clown!”

“Oh, what a tragedy.”

“I wouldn’t be so flippant if I were you,” Joker snarled, before pausing to think on the matter, and adding, “Actually…come to think of it, I _would_.  Ha!  Seems we’re more alike than I thought after all!”

“The very notion of that offends me.” I spat in disgust.

“Yeesh, talk about a broad who needs to lighten up!  Even _you’re_ not like this all the time, Xackie,” he said, turning to the brunette girl, “Not to worry, though, bookworm.  I’ll see to it that you learn to… _laugh at life_.”

“I take it you plan on doing some foul, unspeakable horror to me in a moment?”

“Why rush?” He asked cheerfully, opening his arms wide.  “After all, the _Mona Lisa_ wasn’t painted in five minutes!  This clown prince of crime is nothing, if not an artiste!  Be _sides_ , ol’ Joker’s heard it thought the grapevine that our favorite book-slinging four-eyes has herself a sweetheart.  And not just any sweetheart, but old Bruce Wayne’s handsome young business rival, Mister Pendragon!  I’m willing to allow you two a sappy, gag-me-with-a-spoon-worthy romantic last goodbye…for a small fee.” 

Part of me wanted to be scared, and to an extent, I was, because I was worried for Lance more than myself in that moment.  But moreso I found I was growing furious.  I was _furious_ for this madman ripping up my life, I was _furious_ that he was causing me to become paranoid and crazy, I was _furious_ that I had been kidnapped like this, and I was _furious_ that he dared to drag Lance into the situation!

“You are a sick, twisted _freak_.” I hissed at him.  “I may not be the person who will put you in a body cast, Joker, but you _will_ get yours!”

Of course, he threw back his head and roared with laughter at me.

“Well, don’t you know it, ha-ha!  But _not_ before I make sure, librarian, that _you_ learn how to _smile_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, no, the more I go back through these old chapters and re-read them, I think I had too much fun and got way too into writing Joker for this series.


	26. Joker's Message

[Eva’s POV:]

 

Something was wrong.  And I mean, _seriously_ wrong.  The sky was messed up, for crying out loud.  The weather was acting weird, for another.  And I expected humans would notice that.  But there was also some strange scent just barely present in the air, so faint I half-thought I was imagining it.

It was a burning smell of smoke, metal, and rotten eggs.  Normally I preferred traveling in wolf form, but the stench would have hit me worse then, and the last thing I wanted was to wind up gagging on my way to Lance’s place.  That would probably be a first for most Gothamites, watching a wolf trotting down the street suddenly gag.  I refused to give them that opportunity.

Not for the first time that evening, I wondered why I was heading there.  If I spent too much time around luxury, chances were I might wind up spoiled.  But truthfully, I wasn’t worried about that.  I’m a lycan, born and bred, and the call of the wild is in my blood.  That’s not something you can just ignore forever.  No, I was in no danger of getting fat, lazy and spoiled.  The _real_ reason I was heading out to find Lance was that I just wanted company.

See, I love my man Croc, but sometimes we butt heads.  Comes from having two stubborn, dominant personalities in the same space; when we argue, neither one of us is willing to back down and admit we’re wrong.  And a few nights ago, we’d argued.  He had stomped off in a rage and later, I found out, got his ass caught and hauled back to Arkham.  At once, part of me had wanted to charge into the place, to rescue him.  Part of me wanted him to stew for a while in there, so he could really think about whether or not he was sorry.

Guess which part of me won out.

I couldn’t say that I really liked traveling out in the open, on the streets.  Just walking around in muddy, shredded, blood-stained clothes would get me stares, and more likely than not, eventually I would wind up getting interrogated by cops about my wardrobe.  As it stood, I was walking around in a borrowed trenchcoat that definitely looked worse for the wear, and I was still getting stared at by some people.  The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I let out a low growl.  Some jumpy little man coming from the opposite end of the sidewalk squeaked like a rat and ran from me.

That’s right, hail to the queen.

The wind picked up, and the rank smell grew stronger.  The atmosphere crackled with energy, like something was being charged for a huge electrical out-put.  I had no clue what though, and I wasn’t sure that I _wanted_ to know.  I just wanted to get to Lance’s place, and fast.  There was another scent on the wind, and it lent me speed.

The Bat and his damn brood were out and about.

I picked up the pace, hoping that whatever was going on with the weather and all that, it would keep Batman’s attention.  I doubted whether Lance or the tightwad blonde guy that acted as his butler would be happy if I arrived fresh out of a fight and tracking in blood on the floor.  As it turned out though, I was going to learn just showing up would put Gerard Montaine in a bad mood.

***

By the time I arrived at the new address Lance had mentioned to me, I was even more on edge than before.  The sky hadn’t really changed, unless you wanted to count the fact there was even more whacked-out lightning than before.  It felt all kinds of wrong.  It should have just started _raining_ already.  All it was doing was threatening, and I don’t handle threats well.

The house didn’t really help matters, because it _felt_ threatening.  Reluctantly, I raised a fist and pounded on the door.  I got no response.  I waited for about a minute, then started pounding on the door again.  It didn’t last too long before my ears caught an irritated shout of, “Alright, alright!  Relax, I’m on my way!”  I didn’t feel like really complying with that however, so I kept hammering my fist on the door.  In a few seconds it swung open, and I just managed to catch myself before I smashed my fist into Gerard.

“Miss Eva.” He sounded a bit testy.

“I’ve got a last name, you know.” I shot at him.

“Indeed?” He responded, only arching an eyebrow.  “How fascinating.  Mister Pendragon isn’t expecting you.”

“Look, I don’t care if you’ve got some weird policy to uphold about needing appointments to see a rich guy or anything,” I snarled, shoving past him into the hall, “You don’t tell _me_ what to do, got it?  I need to see my friend, and I’m going to.”

“Evidently.” He clicked his tongue and shut the door behind me.  “I suppose you can claim some form of werewolf immunity about entitlement to meet with other werewolves that I should just accept?”

“Yeah,” I replied, shedding the trench coat, “It’s called, I’m a lycan; I do what I want.”

“I shall bear that in mind.” He said dryly, striding past me and wearily brushing his bangs out of his face.  “Come with me.  I do believe Lancelot and Robert are in the kitchen.”

“Robert?” I echoed before my brain caught up with my ears.  “Wait, you mean Rook?  What the heck?  Doesn’t that vampire have a place of his own or anything?”

“He does, shockingly enough,” Gerard answered as he led me through a couple of winding halls with several doors on either side of us, “But I am of the opinion that work is scarce for him of late, and so he hangs around because he knows Lance won’t allow anything to happen to him.”

Talk about lazy.  The vampire had _definitely_ wound up slightly spoiled and pampered.  Still…I guess I couldn’t totally blame him for keeping his friends close, if they’re all he has.  I let my thoughts trail off as we entered a large, swanky sort of kitchen.  Inside, Rook was adjusting a small T.V. while Lance was furiously wiping down both sink and countertops with a washcloth, a spray bottle hanging in the crook of his arm.

“Come in Eva, Gerard.” He spoke without looking up at us.  I took it as a good sign; meant he was getting better about trusting his nose.  “Do forgive the mess if you will, Eva.  My sister and her friends left the house in a horrendous state.”

I glanced around, feeling confused.  There was a faint smell of eagles lingering under the scents of what had to be super-expensive, non-toxic cleaning solutions.  Aside from that though, this place actually felt almost _too_ clean.

“Um, sure.” I said.  “Whatever you say.  Listen, I hope you don’t mind me just showing up like this.”

“Not at all,” he answered in a relaxed tone, “Contrary to whatever impression Gerard may have given you, I do enjoy the quiet monotony of this old house being broken at times.  You and yours, as well as Robert and his, are free to drop by whenever you wish or have need of me.”

“Really?  Wow.  Uh, thanks.” I said, feeling both justified in having just shown up, and yet, slightly awkward; I still wasn’t used to the idea of Lance’s openness and generosity.  Even in a pack, it’s every lycan for herself or himself.  I still felt Lance had a lot of learning to do—and I mean a _lot_ —but then again, maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t a _normal_ werewolf.

“Thou art of course, always welcome,” He answered, giving me a smile before walking over to Rook and giving the television a thump to get its picture to adjust.  It seemed to be a thing of his, talking like a Shakespeare book or something when he got irritated.

“You’re too nice, Lance.” I told him.

“I totally agree with that, by the way.” Rook agreed, turning to nod at me and toss Lance a significant look.  “You’re _way_ too nice for a werewolf, let alone some business tycoon.  Where are your _balls_ , dude?”

Lance turned and gave him a flat stare.  It was about then that I decided I had to jump in, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know where that would go.

“Check out the tube,” I said loudly, tilting my head back in a half-nod, “Anything else on whatever the heck’s going on outside?”

It worked for a second; they both looked to the T.V., Rook rolling his eyes.  Lance just shook his head and sighed.

“Whatever it is, it’s not natural,” he said sullenly, “That much the news stations and the Gotham police have deduced.”

“ _Super_ natural,” Rook emphasized, “And I bet anything you own in your wine cellar that your sister and her friends are out in the thick of this crap, _doing_ something about it.  Why the _Hell_ aren’t we out there too, man?”

“Uh-uh.” I stepped back into the conversation again before I could get shut out.  “I don’t know if you have some special death wish or whatever Fangs, but you couldn’t drag _me_ out into that.  Whatever’s happening, it’s going to come to a head soon.  I can just feel it.”

“If that is so, then why are you here, Eva?” Lance asked, tilting his head at me and looking curious, rather than judgmental.  “What compelled you to come here?”

Crap.

“I…well, I…” I was stuttering for the first time in what seemed like years.

“Trouble in paradise or something?” Rook piped up, and my face got hot fast.

“I never said that!” I snapped, my voice coming out sounding shrill.

“Called it.” He said, sounding smug as he turned back toward the T.V.

“I’ll whup your ass,” I growled, “You got that, vampire?  I’m gonna whup your stringy little undead wise-guy ass.”

“Please, not in my kitchen,” Lance said quickly, walking over to me and lowering his voice, “I am sorry, Eva.  I did not mean to pry into your personal life.”

“Well, it’s not like you were the douche wad who said anything.” I muttered.

“I heard that.” Rook said loudly.  “Just ‘cause I drink blood instead of turning into a fuzz ball once a month doesn’t mean I hear worse than you guys.”

“Robert, please do us a favor, and shut up for a second.” Lance groaned.  He looked at me again, and I was surprised by how much human sympathy I could read in his face.  I had to take half a second and remind myself yet again that he wasn’t a normal, natural lycanthian.  “Eva…I’m sorry.  If you need time by yourself and that’s why you’ve come here, then the house and the grounds are open to you so you can have some space.”

“Thanks, but I need to be distracted from brooding right now more than anything else.” I said, exhaling roughly, and he nodded to show he understood the feeling.

“Umm…guys?” Rook spoke again, his voice squeaking, “You want a distraction from angsting?  I’ve got one for you.”

Before either of us could ask what he was talking about, loud, maniacal laughter issued out of the television.  My hair rose on end; what little relaxation had started to come over me since I got in the manor vanished.  We moved closer to see something about the broadcast had changed, showing instead a stylized image from a playing card, a white-faced jester.

“Three guesses.” Rook muttered, and the image shrank, moving to a lower corner of the screen, the letters JTV appearing beneath the jester’s collar.  In its place, the picture had gotten vaguely dim, focusing on a high-backed, swanky-looking chair.  Slowly, the chair spun around to face the camera, a familiar white face framed by green locks smiling maliciously at the camera.  For a moment, everything was still, and apprehension filled the kitchen.  A second later, Joker burst into a somewhat animated, delighted monologue.

“Good evening, Gotham City!  Sorry to interrupted your regularly scheduled programming, but with all of the mayhem happening right now and Vicky Blonde Why-Does-She-Have-A-Last-Name reporting on it, I figured you would all be riveted to the boob tube like a bunch of lemmings.  Your _dear_ friend Joker here, coming to you live from an undisclosed location with a bunch of cameras here to focus on my handsome mug.  But not to worry, folks; I’m only invading the lethargy of your ‘living’ rooms because I have a message to deliver.  Are you listening, _Lance Pendragon_?”

I shook my head a little.  Had I just heard that right?  Had the clown just asked for _Lance_?  I looked at him and knew I wasn’t just imagining things.  Lance’s posture had stiffened instantly and there was tension emanating from him as his eyes stayed locked on the screen.

“Don’t be surprised now!” Joker said with a bit of a dark laugh.  “You moneybags buffoons always buy your way into celebrity status, like that Bruce Wayne guy.  I hate that goody-two-shoes.  But you, Lance!  You’re a business shark, so I’m going to put this to you in terms you might understand.”

The camera swiveled too fast for me to catch a lot of details about where Joker was, and then it came to a stop.  The image focused on what looked like a small pool, the kind a family might put in their backyard, and from the green glow coming off the top of it, it definitely wasn’t full of chlorine water.  An apparatus was being affixed above the pool by two of Joker’s goons, something that looked like a dunking chair you might see at a carnival game.  Nearby, there was a folding chair on a stage, and tied to it was—

“ _Miss Harker?!_ ” Lance croaked.

“ _Jeanette_?” I said in disbelief.

“If I understand my gossip correctly,” Joker said off-screen in a would-be-casual voice, “Then our four-eyed little librarian here is your main squeeze, Pendragon.  See, I’ve got a bit of a personal beef with her, but once I heard about your budding romance, I said to myself, ‘Joker old boy, you can afford to be reasonable!’”

The camera panned back to him, cutting off our view of Jeanette straining against the ropes, and onto his sneering face.

“So here’s what I suggest: bring one million dollars to me by midnight, and I’ll let the bookworm here live.  Sound fair?”

Lance clenched his jaw and looked ready to crush the remote in his hand, which was shaking violently.  I couldn’t blame him; heck, I wanted to _help_ him.  Jeanette was my friend too, probably the only normal friend I had.

“Good!” Joker clapped his hands, as though he had heard a ‘yes’ or something.  “I’ll have Punch and Judy text you the address.”

He suddenly paused, looking at something off-screen, and then frowned.

“Okay, fine then.  Make a guy jump through hoops, why doncha?” He muttered.  “ _Xackie_ will text you the address.  Oh, and Lancey-poo?  One more thing: no cops.  If I even catch a whiff of boys-in-blue fabric softener, the deal is off.  And the same goes for the Batman.  This is just between you and me.  A business transaction.”

I let out a growl.  I personally wouldn’t have done either thing, as there’s no love lost between the GCPD and I, and I’d sooner ask Firefly along on a personal vendetta than the Batman.  But kidnappings would be easier to overcome and handle with cops backing you when trying to negotiate for hostages, and Batman was probably the only person who could really handle the Joker.  But Joker hand squashed any hope Lance may have had just now to get Jeanette back safely.

“One million,” Joker repeated in a sing-song voice, “Pocket chump change  for a guy like you, eh Pendragon?   _Don’t keep us waiting_.”

The screen filled with static as Joker’s face vanished, and a second later, it went completely black.  Rook and I both turned to look at Lance, who was still staring at the blank screen.  If a human had looked at him, they wouldn’t catch an expression from him, considering how damn unobservant humans tend to be.  But where his face mostly stayed neutral, there were other things, other little signs that his calm façade was going to crumble.  A tightening of the muscles in his hands, posture going completely rigid, the tips of his ears elongating, the dark void starting to fill his eyes.  It was probably taking all of the self-restraint he had to keep from transforming in the middle of the kitchen and start rampaging in fury.  I knew that feeling well.

“Lance…?” Rook said tentatively.  Lance didn’t move, though.  He didn’t even blink; he just kept staring at the blank television screen.  I tried waving a hand in front of his face, just to see if it would do anything, and he barely responded.

“Lance!  Dude!” Rook said sharply, jumping out of the chair to rush over, grab Lance by the shoulders, and give him a rough shaking.  “Come on man, come on!  Snap out of it!  Say something!”

“He has Jeanette.” Came the weirdly hollow response.  “That madman, that _monster_ has Jeanette.  She’s in danger.”

“We saw,” I jumped in quickly, “And we’re here with you.  We’re going to help you in any way we can, man.  I _promise_.  We’re going to get Jeanette out of this.”

Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he answered through gritted teeth.

“That demented harlequin shan’t get away with this. _I won’t let him_.”


	27. A Half-Baked Plan

[Lance’s POV:]

 

‘Furious’ didn’t even begin to summarize how I felt, but it scratched the surface.  Several emotions welled up inside me upon having seen the televised message Joker made for me, but chief among them aside from my rage, was fear.  What in the world was going to happen to Jeanette?  Was the Joker actually going to let her go completely free if I showed up with the money?  How could I trust that he would?  And on top of all that, it was at least six in the evening; how in God’s name did that deranged lunatic think I was going to pull a million dollars from my accounts at this hour?

“It’s a trap.” I mumbled as I sat down at the counter, steepling my fingers.

“Figured that was probably the case,” Eva said, leaning on her elbows on the counter, “But why do you say that?”

“The only way I’ll be able to muster a million before midnight is through illegal means.” I replied, frowning down at the counter.  “I can’t go to the police for help to make the ransom, or Jeanette is forfeit.  I cannot simply arrive empty-handed without a means for ransom or bargaining, or Jeanette is forfeit.”

“So you’d have to rob a bank or illegally draw out funds from like, savings bonds or stocks or whatever,” Robert jumped in, “And you won’t do that.”

“Of course I won’t.” I said, perhaps a touch irritably.

“So what are we going to do?” Eva asked.  To that, I didn’t have an immediate answer, and so silence descended upon the kitchen, tense and unyielding.  Every tick of the clock set my nerves on edge, ringing in my ears louder and louder.

“Lance calm down, man!” Robert said in sudden alarm.  “You’re starting to shift!”

I glanced down at my hands and realized with a start that they were beginning to lengthen and sprout long black fur at an alarming rate.  A second later, I felt my ears twitch, much larger and longer than human ears should be.  I inhaled deeply, held my breath a moment, and then exhaled.  A second later, and my tail may have emerged as well.  My two friends maintained their gazes upon me as I continued to breathe deeply, until I had reverted my shifting and restored myself to a general calm.  Or rather, as calm as I could manage to be, given the circumstances.

“My gratitude to you both,” I murmured.

“Anytime.” They answered in relative tandem.

Silence continued to build, when without warning, something occurred to me.

“Hold on a moment,” I said, rising from my seat, “I think I may have an idea.”

“What is it?” Eva raised a curious eyebrow.

“Something utterly insane and possibly suicidal,” I replied, looking sharply to Robert, who jumped, “Rob, you have a tendency to follow all of those crime-drama shows more than the news, don’t you?”

He gave me a skeptical look.

“Yes,” he answered slowly, “Mostly so I can see whether or not the people who make those dumb series are actually ever getting their crap right.”

“How often does a situation like this arise, in those shows?”

“Like every episode.”

“Right!  And when the situation becomes like this one, where someone’s hands are all but tied completely, how do they solve it?” I pressed him.

He shrugged and replied, “Usually by pulling a fast one on the—“He stopped abruptly, and I watched the comprehension dawn on his face, “Wait a mother-freaking second, are you saying you want _to con the Joker?!_ ”

“It may be our only shot.” I answered.

“You want to con the Joker?” Eva asked, clearly impressed with my slowly-deteriorating sound mind.  She clapped a hand on my shoulder, giving me a small, genial shake.  “I’m proud of you, soft-paws.  Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

“Don’t get me wrong, so am I,” Robert said, a touch thickly, as his fangs had extended in his growing anxiety, “But this is the _Joker_ , Lance.”

“I _did_ say the idea was possibly suicidal.” I reminded him.  “But it may be the only chance we have to save Jeanette.  If you don’t want to risk it, I understand.  But if you’re willing…are you two still with me?”

There was a pause as they both hesitated, thinking hard, but after a moment, they nodded.  I exhaled a sigh of relief I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in.  The idea was definitely insane, but the knowledge that my two friends, those two who were practically family, would be helping me with it, made it seem far less daunting.  With them, it would be in reach, and I would have a much better chance of saving Miss Harker.

_Jeanette_ , a small voice in my head corrected me, and I tried my best to avoid blushing.

“Alright, excellent!  Gerard seems to have disappeared after bringing to you the kitchen, Eva, but I daresay we’ll need him.  He needs to play the part of a distraction.  Robert, you’re going to help me set up the prop we need.  And Eva?”

She raised her eyebrows at me to show she was listening and ready to help.  I gritted my teeth together, knowing she wasn’t going to like what I said next.

“Gerard is known as my employee, and Robert is known as my friend and associate of sorts.  But _you_ are an unknown.  I’m going to need you to go in disguise to the police department and deliver them a message.”

***

Roughly an hour and a half later, I was pacing up and down in the lobby of my office building, while Rook made a scene of prowling around the main desk in open view of the windows and glass doors.  It felt as though time was slipping away from us like water passing through a sieve, my nerves were fraying with every passing second and each glance outside caused my stomach to clench.  Eva hadn’t been exaggerating in her claims about the sky looking unnatural, and if I strained my ears, my lycanthropic hearing caught distant snatches of sound.  Sirens belonging to various vehicles were wailing, cars were flying up and down the roads at random, and sounds of panic made me want to shift into wolf form and raise my hackles in response.

“Sounds like everything’s going to Hell out there,” came a calm mutter from behind the main desk.

“Yes,” I answered my vampire friend in a low voice as I slowed in my pacing to look out of the main doors, “Or Hell is coming to us.”

“Ugh, _great_ ,” Robert suddenly popped into sight again, hefting a handgun he had been pretending to look for as he started walking back, “Switch places with me.”

I complied, never letting my eyes stray from the door until I got behind the desk.

“Do you see him?” I asked.  “There’s a man watching us from the building across the street, in one of the upper floor windows.”

There was a slight pause as I ducked down to open my briefcase, then he answered, “Yeah.  Yeah, I see him.  He’s watching me with some purple binoculars.  You were right; Joker’s watching to see what you do.”

“Purple?  Are you sure it’s not eggplant?”

“Eggpl—dude, what kind of question is that?!”

I began systematically stuffing the lower compartment of the briefcase to weigh it down, and shook my head in exasperation.

“Look, just keep speaking in slow intervals,” I answered, “That way you’re selling the part of the oblivious look-out better.”

“How do we know these guys can’t read lips?”

“Call it a hunch, Robert.  Just keep talking.  Say something.  Anything.”

He paused again, then said, “So…you’re really scared for Jeanette, aren’t you?”

I fumbled with the upper compartment before I got it situated into the briefcase.

“Yes.” I finally replied, feeling my face burn red.

“Lance?” He said, and I stood up over the top of the desk enough so I could be seen with the briefcase through the windows.  “Are you… _serious_ about her?”

“Yes,” I answered, and it truly hit me for the first time that I meant it with all of my being, “I am more serious about Jeanette and the relationship I hope to have with her than I am a good many things in my life.”

I shut the briefcase, closing its latches with a snap, aware of my friend’s gray eyes following my progress.

“She’s a great girl, bro.”

I glanced up at him and smiled wearily.

“Yes.  She is.” I agreed quietly.

My cell phone vibrated abruptly in my coat pocket, jarring us both, and Rook shifted his grip on the handgun as I pulled the phone out to read the text.

“Gerard’s made sure he’s been seen making ‘withdrawals’ from several ATMs.” I said with a ragged sigh.  “Now all that’s left is to send Eva the details of where we’re heading, regroup with Gerard, and head to the address we were sent.”

“I’m telling you, Lance, the chances of this working are zilch to zip to nada to Hell-in-a-hand basket.” Rook muttered as he led the way out of the front doors.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Robert.” I muttered, but the pessimistic thoughts lurking in the back of my mind silently agreed with him.  It would take a miracle of God’s own design for this plan to work even slightly.

But Jeanette was in danger and regrettably, I had no other choice.


	28. One Rotten Day...

[Jeanette’s POV:]

I always thought that my wisest course of action if I ever were kidnapped would be to keep silent.  It was simply one of those things that stood to reason.  I never thought it would be safer to talk on occasion, let alone make biting, confrontational remarks as well.

Then again, I had never in my life anticipated that I might wind up getting kidnapped by a madman like The Joker.

I watched as he constantly went about—well, _whatever_ it was he was doing—in the old television station, ordering Punch and Judy around rather often.  The first time he had done something that didn’t seem to be fitting with the rest of his plan, I made the mistake of asking why.  He had asked his two goons to turn off some of the fluorescent lights toward the far end of the room.  He then demanded that they turn them back on, then back off again, then back on again, then back off a third time, before finally demanding that they rip the lights out of their fixtures in the ceiling entirely.

“Why?” The word was out of my mouth before I could stop it.  Joker turned and looked at me, his eyes bulging slightly, as though shocked I had asked a question.  “What purpose does that serve?”

“Why, I didn’t like the lights, of course!”

After that answer, I resolved that I should refrain from asking questions about things unrelated to his plans for my evident demise.  My brain was hurting enough already.

Perhaps one of the few bright points of my insane captivity was Xack Hathaway.  There was still something about the young woman that unsettled me slightly on some fundamental level, but her presence soon became to me a comfort of sorts.  She rarely engaged in doing anything the way Punch and Judy always seemed to, even though she didn’t dare go against anything Joker said.  Of course, he didn’t seem keen on ordering her around in the same way he did them, and some time had passed before he addressed her again.

“Xackie!” He spoke suddenly, and she looked up, her face an expression of polite interest.  Not for the last time, I wondered what in the world she was doing there, and what her particular relationship to the Clown Prince of Crime was.  I watched as she said nothing, and the Joker sauntered over, carrying a rubber chicken by its neck.  Without a word, he set it unceremoniously on Xack’s head, arranging it to look like a makeshift hat.

“Ahh, much better!” He declared, admiring his handiwork for a second before marching off.  I raised my eyebrows and shifted in my seat to look at Xack.  To my vast relief, she appeared extremely disgruntled and irritated about the rubber chicken, and after Joker had disappeared from sight, she reached up and swatted it off of her head.

“I suppose this isn’t the first time he’s done something like that to you.” I prompted.

“You have no idea.” She said with a mirthless half-chuckle.

“How in the world is it that you came to be in the company of Joker?” I asked cautiously.

“You mean right now, or at all?”

“Both.  After all, I’ll probably understand the former best if I know the latter.”

The faint ghost of a smile flickered onto Xack’s face as she shifted in her seat.

“I was in Arkham; both my brother and I were.” She answered, and I couldn’t hold in my shock.   _Arkham Asylum?!_  But she was only perhaps a handful of years younger than me!  How in the world was that possible?  She saw the look on my face and chuckled hollowly.  “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“If I may ask why—“

“Please don’t,” she cut me off quickly, shaking her head, “It’s…not an easy topic for me.  Point of it is, that’s where I met Joker.  He…took an interest in me, I suppose.”

“You _suppose_?”

She ignored my sarcasm and slouched forward, her expression unreadable.  “And the feeling was kind of mutual, at first.  I thought Joker was weird, different, unusual, and he was a break in the monotony at Arkham.  But then after a while, I learned something really important.” She said quietly.

“Dare I ask what that was?”

“It’s deadly to ever get on the Joker’s radar, in any way.”

I shut my mouth, feeling as grim as she sounded.  I knew all too well what she meant.  Still, something about all of this didn’t add up.

“So why are you here, right now?” I asked, as gently as I could.  She exhaled a sigh that blew her bangs out of her face, rolling her eyes in a way that suggested she was less-than-pleased about the matter.

“I was following Joker one day,” she replied, “Spotted him outside my apartment, and thought I would find out what he was up to.  Didn’t exactly work out like I thought it would.  I met someone called Fantasia—“ I nearly jumped in shock, hearing my cousin’s stage name, though she apparently didn’t notice, “And I stuck with him for a while, until we caught up with a bunch of other people at some mansion.  Then things with the weather started getting weird, I heard Professor Strange’s name thrown around once or twice…then Joker grabbed me and we left.  I figured I shouldn’t argue, but I had no idea what he was planning to do, you _have_ to believe me!  I didn’t know he was planning on kidnapping or hurting you, honest.”

“I believe you.” I told her with a weary nod.  “Life has a tendency to just get crazy without warning, as I keep getting reminded so frequently lately.”

She went quiet and watched me for a time, her expression still somewhat melancholy as she hugged her knees to her chest.  Really, she was a lovely girl in many ways, and I couldn’t help but feel a stab of pity for her.  Life was hard enough with Joker just out to kill me; I wasn’t sure I wanted to know exactly what it was like to be an object of interest to him.

“I’m really sorry,” Xack said suddenly, looking away from me and picking at one of her shoelaces absentmindedly, “I know it probably sounds useless and empty to you, but I really do mean it.  I’m sorry, Jeanette.  I wish there was some way I could actually _help_ you, but…I just don’t know what to do.”

I was at a loss for words.  Despite my earlier feelings, I just couldn’t hold this against her.  This was all _Joker’s_ fault, and to an extent, mine as well, depending on how one looked at it.  Really, a sensible woman would have worried more about her life and the lives of others rather than antagonizing a known maniac, let alone attacking that same maniac…twice.  And now, I was going to pay the price for my moment of idiocy.

_And Lance,_ came a thought from the back of my mind, _I’ve endangered him too._

A sinking feeling of guilt twisted my stomach.  Lance had nothing to do with this, and yet somehow Joker had found out about him, and now was demanding a ransom from him for me.

_It’s a trap,_ my woman’s intuition had decided when Joker had first televised that message, _it has to be.  Even if Lance shows up with all the money, Joker’s going to kill me.  There’s no way that he’ll just forget what I did to him for a large pile of cash._

The thought still provided no comfort now.  I could see no potential way out of this situation, not even remotely.  And beyond that, what would the effect be on those close to Lance and me?  Would Michelle become a target, just because she was my sister?  Would Joker attack Lance’s businesses, just treating them like a massive treasure trove to dive into?

_No,_ I thought stubbornly, _I may not be more than a captive for ransom and torture in these circumstances, but I am NOT going to just let that happen.  Heaven help me, there must be SOMETHING I can do!_

I glanced around hurriedly, hoping inspiration would just come to me.  Surely there was something I could use.  Improvisation wasn’t my strong point, but I had managed well enough with Doctor Dorian, hadn’t I?  So there had to be…

My eye fell on the far end of the room, where the outdoor family pool Joker had stolen and dumped chemicals in waited for me.  And a wild thought occurred to me.  It was a flighty, silly hope at best, and there was no guarantee it would work at all.  But it was the best idea I could come up with.  So maybe, just maybe, if I played this right…

“Xack,” I whispered, glancing around to see if Joker or either of his lumbering goons were around, and she looked at me, blinking her green eyes, “There _is_ something you could do to help me, but it’s a long shot, and it’s probably going to sound incredibly mindless.”

She also looked around, a nervous tension in her overall posture and expression, but after a moment, she looked back at me with the tiniest of nods.

“What is it?” She whispered in urgent tones, “Better hurry, they could show back up at any second.”

“I had a small hand purse with me.  Punch and Judy took it from me when they tied me up.  Do you know where it is?” I asked, and when she nodded, I spoke as low and fast as I could.  “When Lance gets here, Joker will be preoccupied with him.  Do you think you could get to my purse, grab something from it, and get back here without being missed?”

“Probably,” she said, regarding me with a skeptical expression, “What do you need?”

“Body spray.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth turned down in a disbelieving frown as her eyebrows rose.

“Just trust me on this,” I begged, “There should be a bottle of body spray in my purse.  My sister gave it to me before I…before I got on the bus.  All I want is for you to grab it and slip it into the ropes so I can reach it.”

Her frown eased up, but I could tell she still didn’t quite believe me.  Either that or she thought I was already halfway crazy and getting worse.

“This is unbelievably boring!” Joker’s voice wafted toward us, and we both quickly tried not to look guilty of speaking to one another.  Within moments, he rounded the corner, huffing and stomping about with Punch and Judy following dutifully behind him, evidently waiting for an opportunity to be helpful.

“What’s boring?” I asked as politely as I could.  Joker paused long enough to shoot a flat look in my direction, and I couldn’t actually blame him this time.  I’d picked the sort of polite tone that a boy wizard would use to ask why something was curious, and when put in the right circumstances that particular tone hints that you could be up to something.  He was right to look irritated and suspicious.

“Not that I would expect you to understand, but _waiting_.” He answered.  “Then again…I suppose I don’t _have_ to wait for midnight and your sugar-daddy to roll around.”

“ _Sugar-daddy?!_ ” I spluttered, feeling both a flush and angry indignation coming on.  “Mister Pendragon isn’t—“

The rest of his words finished registering in my brain, and my mouth went dry.

“O-oh.” I managed to say, feeling a knot obstruct my throat.

“But,” Joker sighed somewhat dramatically, “That would take most of the fun out of it.  This will just be _better_ with an audience.”

And with that, he resumed walking the studio, his stomping pout turning into a self-assured strut.  I couldn’t bring myself to watch, and I stared down at my shoes.  My fears had just been confirmed; Joker was planning to kill me regardless of whether or not Lance actually produced the ransom, and the only reason he hadn’t done so already was because he wanted Lance to see it happen.  I tried not to think too hard about it, but my brain wouldn’t focus on anything else.  I was going to die, and a show would be made of my death.

_I don’t want to die.  I don’t want to die._

Trying not to imagine how I would die was difficult, and only made things worse.  I was probably going to die slowly as acid ate away at me…assuming of course, that I simply didn’t drown in the chemicals first.  And Lance, dear, sweet, kindly Lance…he would be force to watch this happen.

The memory of his smile filled my mind, and I wanted desperately to cry.

_We’ll never get to have that second date.  Lance will have to be the one to tell Mom and Michelle I’m dead.  To think, I finally got a prospective boyfriend and patch things up and start rebuilding old bridges with my sister, and now I’m going to die before any of this can really come to full fruition._

_No, I’m not,_ some stubborn part of me argued, _I won’t die.  Batman will show up, like he always does, and he’ll stop Joker.  Lance may even try to stop Joker.  He_ is _a werewolf, after all!  And in any case, I have my hope for an escape of some sort._

_Who am I kidding?_ The resigned-to-death thoughts argued back.   _It’s a fool’s hope at best.  That body spray won’t be enough to neutralize chemicals that will kill me._

_Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try._

I only wound up feeling more confused than before, and at the same time, I had to wonder if part of Joker’s madness wasn’t already rubbing off on me.  After all, it was very rare that I argued with myself in my thoughts.  Glancing up, the seat next to me was empty; Xack had gotten up and walked over to Joker, watching him with those wide eyes.

_So much for hoping she would help._

_I don’t want to die._

That one thought swirled in my mind over and over.  No matter how much I tried to focus on anything else for any amount of time, everything came back to that one thought.   _I don’t want to die._  Time passed slowly, but I couldn’t even agonize over that.   _I don’t want to die._

There was no way for me to have figured out what the time was for certain, but I knew this: It was definitely _not_ midnight when I finally heard Lance’s voice echo through the studio.

“JOKER!”

The sound of his voice jolted me out of my gloom, and I looked up wildly.  There he was, throwing open the double doors at the far end of the studio, looking absolutely livid.  And what was more, he wasn’t alone—Rook and Eva were with him!

“Lance!” I cried out, a few tears spilling out of my eyes in relief.  Hope came back in such a rush I thought my chest would burst.  There was no way they would let me die!

Joker looked up from the small desk table where he had been playing what I assumed was Go Fish with Punch and Judy while Xack watched.  For a moment, he seemed mildly perplexed, as though he couldn’t figure how for the life of him why people had just suddenly shown up, but he recovered fast and gave a broad grin.

“Ahh, the knight in shining armor has finally arrived to rescue his damsel in distress!” He said loudly, spreading his arms open wide.  Punch and Judy took this as a cue, and moved toward me.  They stood on either side of the chair, and it struck me just how tall they were up close.  I looked to Lance, saw his furious expression, and realized he was carrying a briefcase at his side.  I felt like I had to find a way to tell him the ransom was pointless, but how?

“So,” Joker said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together with evil glee, “Where’s my demanded loot, Mister Tycoon?”

Lance’s eyes narrowed as he handed the briefcase off to Eva, balling his fists and baring his teeth as he took up a stance like he was ready to get into a fistfight.

“GIRD UP NOW THY LOINS LIKE A MAN!” He shouted.

I blinked, unsure what I had just heard.

Had Lance actually just quoted the King James edition of The Holy Bible?

I glanced around at everyone else, who looked equally confused, with the exceptions of Eva, who rolled her eyes and groaned, and Rook, who looked ready to sob.

“Dude,” he whined, “I’m _begging_ you.  Just say _balls_.”

“Wait.  Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” Joker said, holding up a hand for everyone to pause and looking at Rook incredulously, “You can understand this guy?”

I felt like saying that I could understand him, but I doubt Joker would listen to his own hostage for any reason.  Either that, or he would probably think for some cock-and-bull reason that I was ‘trying to pull a fast one.’

“Ehh, kind of?” Rook answered him, shrugging.  “Been around him long enough I can sort of interpret what he says when he gets like this.”

_That’s an impressive feat.  For you that is, Rook._  I thought wryly.

“So, what exactly did he say to me?  Can you translate it into English?” Joker asked, still looking mildly confused.  This time he got a roll of the eyes and a long-suffering sigh.

“He said, ‘Yo, hollah.  Cover your balls, dawg, ‘cause we ‘bout to rumble and it’s gon’ get _ugly_.’”

If you’ve never seen a white-boy vampire try to talk like a gangsta from the ‘hood, count yourself lucky.  My confidence in my rescue dropped.  Rook would be getting a serious lecture about this in the future, I silently vowed.

“Oh.” Joker blinked.  “Why couldn’t he just say that in plain English?”

“I _know_ , right?”

Lance tossed his best friend a quelling scowl, muttering something about how he _was_ speaking English, and gave a jerk of his head in Eva’s direction.  Eyes narrowing, she flung the briefcase at Joker, throwing it like a Frisbee.  I nearly jumped, not because she had thrown it, but because at that precise moment, something slipped between the ropes binding me to the chair, and was pushed into my hands.  I recognized the body spray bottle instantly, and a quick look up at Judy and Punch showed they hadn’t noticed anything; their attention was fixed on their boss.

“Good luck.”  It was barely a whisper in my ear before I sensed Xack had already gone, hopefully vanishing out of sight somewhere in the studio.  It wasn’t much, but it was a little bit of comfort to me regardless.

“Hey!” Joker squawked, and I realized he had the briefcase open and was gaping at its contents.  “ _Game money?!_ ”

“No need to take this all so seriously.” Lance piped up in a sweetly mocking tone of voice.  “I thought you would be one to appreciate a _good joke_.”

Joker stared at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed, shoulders starting to shake.

“And here I thought you suit-and-briefcase stiffs wouldn’t know comedy if it bit ya!” He roared between laughs.  I saw Eva and Rook exchange apprehensive glances and shift position slightly before Joker’s laughter died down, and he smiled coldly at Lance.  “In that case Mr. Pendragon, you’re gonna _love_ this next little joke of _mine_.”

He snapped his fingers and the floor fell away as Punch and Judy lifted my chair.  It wobbled so much I thought I would drop my hidden bottle, and vaguely I wondered if a person could get seasick this way.  Perhaps it would be safer to assume vertigo, but at that moment I didn’t care, as they made to move toward the pool full of chemicals.

This was it.  I was about to die.

“Put.  The chair.  Down.”

The voice echoed menacingly through the studio, and my chair came to a halt as Punch and Judy hesitated.  I looked all around the ceiling rafters, trying to catch a glimpse of a pointed cowl.  Then, a dark shape detached itself from the shadows and dropped down between Joker and Lance, rising fluidly and glaring daggers.

“Batsy, you weren’t supposed to join this party.”  Joker said angrily, crossing his arms.

“I tracked you here, not that it was hard.  You used this same television studio when you took Detective Tankinson hostage.  Now, _let Miss Harker go_.”

A smile came back over Joker’s face as he looked back in our direction.

“Well, boys?  You heard Batsy!”

Time seemed to slow down.  I was flung bodily with the chair, the room arced and spun in a blur.  I lost my grip on the body spray and prayed with every heartbeat it ended up in the pool.  The vile-looking yellow-green chemicals flashed into view briefly before I was falling sideways toward it.  The last sound that reached my ears as I sucked in a breath was Lance shouting in rage.

And the world became green liquid fire as I plunged beneath the surface of the chemical bath.


	29. And A Chemical Bath

Chapter 29:  And A Chemical Bath

[Lance’s POV:]

“Batsy, you weren’t supposed to join this party.”

I tensed, watching the back of Batman’s cowl.  I had anticipated he would indeed show up, but the fact he had gotten here sooner than I thought was surprising.  Come to think of it, why was _he_ here and the police weren’t?  My brain supplied an answer almost immediately; assuming the police hadn’t thought Eva’s message was a false alarm, the rest of the city was still going to Hell, and the GCPD were probably busy prioritizing that.  But how had Batman—?

“I tracked you here, not that it was hard.  You used this same television studio when you took Detective Tankinson hostage.” Batman replied coldly.  “Now, _let Miss Harker go_.”

I watched the madman’s expression change, twisting into a cruel smile, before he promptly turned to his henchmen, who held Jeanette between them.

“Well, boys?  You heard Batsy!”

“NO!” I shouted, breaking away from my two friends and charging forward.  “Jeanette!”

Time slowed, just for an instant.  The chair flew, something smashed against the surface of the bubbling chemicals, I registered terror in the depths of brown eyes, and then Jeanette splashed into the pool, waves of the chemical crashing over the sides.

“ _JEANETTE!_ ” I screamed.  The surface of the chemical sparked, briefly turning bright lavender, and suddenly its noxious fumes were replaced by a heavy, flowery aroma.

“Ahh, see there boys?” I heard the Joker saying as I ran toward the stage.  “ _So_ much better with an audience!  Wouldn’t you agree, Batsy?”

The sounds of blows fell; a fight had started.  Somewhere behind me, I could hear Rook and Eva getting ready to join in.

“The bat’s got the clown.” Eva growled, her voice inhumanly feral.  “You take the big one, and I’ve got the ugly one.”

“Which is which, wolf-girl?!” Rook roared at her.

I couldn’t afford to keep listening, or to look back.  I hopped onto the stage and had to pick my way to the pool to avoid coming into contact with the mess of chemicals.  I still had no idea what it was, or what it was doing to Jeanette…assuming she would live through this!  My mind was starting to go numb, and I felt like the rest of me was sort of operating automatically.  There wasn’t the slightest clue in my mind as to what I was doing, but I tore off my suit jacket, partially wrapping my right hand in one of the sleeves, and I flung it over the chemical.

“Jeanette?  Jeanette!” I yelled, and desperate hope took up residence in me that she would somehow get free of the ropes tying her to the chair and grab onto my suit jacket.  It was beginning to sizzle, slowly turning the black of something burnt, and the sounds of fighting grew louder around me.  The rest of the world fell away as I watched and waited, my anxiety spiking.  Seconds ticked past like eternities flashing by me as I waited for a sign.

_Come on, Jeanette, come on!_ I thought.   _You survived two other encounters with the Joker.  You were willing to take up with a super-villain to help free me from Dorian’s controlling god-complex game.  Come on, Jeanette… come on…_

Something tugged at the other end of my jacket, and then a hand briefly surfaced, clutching the ruined fabric before pulling it under.

My heart leaped into my throat, and I started to pull.  The fabric went taut, and a weight dragged with it.  I backed up, pulling the rest of the jacket to as close to the edge of the pool as I could, and, with a ragged gasp that nearly made me jump out of my skin, Jeanette surfaced, clutching the edge of the pool wildly.

“Jeanette!” I nearly sobbed, relief flooding me.  She heaved her weight over the side and tumbled to the floor, her burned clothes squishing and sopping wet as she coughed up mouthfuls of chemical.

“My knight in shining armor.” She croaked, smiling up at me, and it was then I realized what the chemical had done to her.  Her skin was white.  Not merely pale, but _white_ , and her eyes were a blood-red with yellow pinprick pupils.  Even as I watched, a bright shade of green began to spread out from the roots of her hair, hurriedly changing it like a mutating virus.

Joker hadn’t been trying to _kill_ her; he had intended to make her like _him_.

_But why?  What purpose does this serve??_

“I look like rubbish, don’t I?” She sniffled, pushing herself up into a sitting position.  “Tell me the truth.  Simply dreadful, aren’t I?”

She glanced from me down to her hands and froze, her eyes going huge.  I waited for her to start cackling wildly, or else to fly into a fury and attack me.  But instead, a few tears spilled out of her eyes and she looked at me, utterly helpless in her despair.

“Th-thank you for not answering that.” She said, beginning to hiccup.  I reached for her, to embrace her and offer her comfort, but she held up a hand and shook her head.  “I-I still h-have chemicals on me.  I don’t want you to get hurt.  This substance, it…it _burns_.”

She may have been a stubborn woman, but I am equally so a stubborn werewolf.  I looked around, unsure what I was searching for but determined to find it either way.  A glance showed that Eva had already knocked out Judy and was turning to help Rook with Punch.  Batman and Joker appeared to be evenly matched and totally absorbed in fighting one another.  For the moment, we were safe and unnoticed.  I looked away again, and motion out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.  Someone was moving in the shadows, and despite the heavy smell of flowers and lingering fumes of chemical solution, my nose caught another scent coming from that direction.  The scent was female, young and somewhat frightened.  My ears caught a shuffling noise, and something was half-thrown, half-slid across the floor in our direction.

“A tarp blanket?” I murmured once I got a decent look at the object.  It was old and gray, with a layer of dust on it; my guess was that at one point it was used as a prop of some sort for this station and whatever shows aired through this studio.  Looking back up, my eyes adjusted and this time I could see the young woman, who was watching me expectantly and tilted her head towards Jeanette in a significant way.  I gave the girl the barest of nods and seized the edge of the scratchy material, dragging it closer to us.  Jeanette gave no indication she was in pain, but for some reason, I felt nervous and clumsy, and my hands shook as I moved to wrap the blanket around her.  She raised no objection but wrapped it more tightly about herself and began to cry quietly.  I had no idea what to do, and simply hugged her as tight as I could.

“Jeanette.  Jeanette, it’s alright.  I’m here.”

She cried more.  A shout and a crash reached my ears; Punch was down now too, and the caped crusader and the clown prince of crime fought on.  Footsteps approached the stage, accompanied by the wild, earthy scent of Eva, and Rook’s own repulsive smell of being a vampire severely lacking in personal hygiene.  He stayed back and kept an eye on the fight while Eva joined us, carefully treading to avoid getting any chemicals on her.

“Jeanette?” she asked, hovering uncertainly.

“Yes?” she replied through her sobs, which were beginning to ease a little.  Lowering the blanket slightly to show her face, she looked up at Eva, who stared for a moment in shock before looking suddenly murderous.

“That _bastard_.” She growled, crouching down and pulling Jeanette into a fierce hug.  “I’m so sorry, Jen.  He’s _sick_.”

“What—“ Rook started to ask as he turned around, before leaping in shock.  “ _WHOA!!_ ”

“Thanks,” she muttered bitterly, “That makes me feel _infinitely_ better.”

“Listen to that!” Joker suddenly spoke up, drawing our attention.  He was backing away from Batman rapidly, while gesturing in the direction of the stage, smiling nastily.  “Music to my ears!  I _said_ this would be better with an audience, didn’t I?  What do you think, Batsy?  Doesn’t Miss Four-Eyes look much be— _EEYAAAGH!_ ”

Batman’s swings drew closer and closer, and finally he landed a blow that sent Joker flying backward, knocking him senseless.  My mouth fell agape; I thought that Robert and I had always been a decent hand at combat, but the dark knight moved like he would have been able to keep up with the speed of any supernatural creature.  Silently, I prayed I never did anything to get on this man’s blacklist.

“Listen!” Eva said sharply, going very still.  “Sirens.”

To my complete astonishment, she was right.  I had been tuning out other sounds previously, but at the mention of them, I could hear the wail of several police sirens drawing closer and closer.  In moments, the doors burst open and officers rushed in, cuffing the unconscious rogues.  For some reason, I thought of the young woman who had thrown the blanket at us, but when I glanced back in the direction where I had seen her, she had vanished.

“Miss Harker.” Batman’s voice made me jump out of my skin and I whirled around.   _How_ had I not heard his approach?  “I’m sorry.”

She looked up at him, blinking her red eyes, saying nothing for a long moment.

“It’s not your fault.” She replied finally.  “You don’t have to apologize.”

He gave a small nod, then continued, “Please, go with Detectives Yin and Tankinson; they’ll take you to the hospital.  You’ll get treatment.”

Some part of me highly doubted any amount of treatment would remedy this for her, but I bit my lip.  After all, how was I to know for certain?  And in any case, if it was a comfort to Jeanette, then I would stand behind it.  Getting to my feet, I squared my shoulders and exhaled, looking him in the eye.

“I shall accompany Miss Harker.” I declared as stoutly as I could manage, ready to argue the point if he said I shouldn’t.  But far from telling me to back down, he nodded again.

“Please do, Mister Pendragon.”

“Gotham P. D.!!” A voice interrupted.  Two detectives approached, both looking far worse for the wear.  The woman looked ready to collapse at any second, but there was something fierce and resilient in her dark, almond-shaped eyes, and there was an air of authority about her in spite of her having to limp along, supported by her partner.  “Detective Ellen Yin.  This is Detective Cash Tankinson.  You’re safe now.  It’s all over.”

***

The next day flew past in a hazy blur.  Questioning didn’t last long; the business that had been going on with the rest of the city blew over, and that was the greater concern of the G.C.P.D.  As Rook has suspected, my sister and her friends had played a part in the chaos, and Guen herself had left me a message babbling about combating some monster invasion, but I didn’t wish to know any details about the matter.  Ignorance is bliss, after all.

Being escorted by the police would have been uneventful, had not Joker come to his senses long enough to toss a few more insults our way.  Jeanette didn’t take it well at all, and chose to clock him over the head with my briefcase until he yelped and begged for mercy.  My heart had swelled with pride at the sight, but shortly afterward, Detective Tankinson wouldn’t drop the matter or shut up the entire way to Gotham General.  Apparently he was intent on giving advice about how to best “combat the crazies.”

I managed to pull a few strings at the hospital, and Jeanette was given a private room in a wing that was mostly devoid of other patients.  She told me more than once, however, that she was of the opinion she wouldn’t have been bothered either way, given her condition.  She remained gloomy for the first part of the day, until Robert and Eva arrived bearing books they had brought up from the gift shop, and once Jeanette had one of them in her hands, she began to act more like herself again.  I didn’t leave her if I could avoid doing so, and thankfully we had little trouble in that regard.

Several samples of her skin tissue, hair fibers, and blood were taken, but the doctors doubted they would find any way of reverse-engineering the effects.  They even consulted with some of the Arkham staff, but as the doctors at the asylum had all been baffled by Joker’s “permaclown” condition, this gave me no comfort.  Jeanette was, as far as I could tell, at least handling this with more grace than I, and merely asked not to be shown any mirrors for the time being.

That night came and went with little sleep.  Jeanette tossed and turned fitfully all night, and I stayed awake to keep an eye on her.  Thus understandably, it was puzzling when there came a knock on the door of the room.

“Visitors for Miss Harker.” A nurse announced, before admitting two women into the room.  I blinked blearily.  Visitors?  Jeanette wasn’t even awake yet.  Who were these women?  I blinked again as they inched closer.

“Jen?” One of them said tentatively, causing her to Jeanette to stir.  This younger woman was of average height and build, with light brown hair pulled back into an alligator clip and gray-blue eyes ready to spill over with tears.  She also appeared to be in a work uniform and apron, and there was a smell of pie about her person.  The other woman with her was middle-aged, with graying brown hair and dark brown eyes that were red and puffy with crying.

“Jeanette?” She sniffled, croaking a little.

She woke, blinking and yawning, and smiled at them.

“Hey, Mom.  Hey, Michelle.” She murmured.

The effect was immediate; the elder woman began to sob hysterically and threw herself forward, hugging Jeanette like she was never going to let her go.  The younger woman, who could only be Michelle, rushed to Jeanette’s other side, and the three of them began talking in low tones at a rapid-fire pace.

_Far be it from me to remain and make things awkward._  I thought as I rose from the chair I had been occupying and silently inched out, so they could have some space.

The halls beyond were rather quiet, but straining my ears past normal human hearing range allowed me to pick up noises from distant rooms and floors.  I waited for them to calm down a little in Jeanette’s room, for the conversation to get a little less hysteric, and focused instead on stretching out my lycanthian senses.  Eva insisted that I practice, and right now was the perfect opportunity.

“Are you busy?”

I looked toward the first branch in the hall and found myself looking at the young woman from the other night.  Under the florescent lighting and in her severe black attire, she looked startlingly pallid, with heavy-lidded green eyes and long, thick brown hair.  She approached with slow, cautious steps and I went still, watching and waiting.

“No.” I replied.

“How’s Jeanette?” She asked, resting her hands in her pockets and shuffling her feet.

“She’s alright for the moment,” I answered her, “She’s talking with a couple of visitors.”

The girl nodded, probably more for herself than me.

“Alright.  Okay.  Then, can you do me a favor, Mister Pendragon?  Can you please tell Jeanette that Xack says hi, and that she’s sorry?”  
I offered her a smile, feeling just a touch relieved.

“I shall, Miss Xack.  Thank you.”

She gave me another solemn nod, the faint ghost of a smile flickering across her features before she turned and walked out of sight.  I half-considered following her just in case, but decided against it.  My nerves were getting to me, and though she had been in the same television studio with Joker and his thuggish brutes, she had done what she could do to help, and my instincts said she wouldn’t present a danger to Jeanette.

And of course, if there was one thing my friends went on about incessantly, it was learning to trust that sort of instinct.

“Lance?  Lance!”

Jeanette was calling me faintly, but I could hear her clear as a whistle.  I went back into the room with a steadying breath, preparing myself to meet her mother and sister.

***

“What are _you_ doing here?”

I snapped to, feeling ashamed when I realized I had dozed off.  I shook my head, looking from Jeanette’s tense, bone-white face to where her crimson gaze was focused.  A familiar scent of cleaning solutions, strong tea, and cats hit my nose as my eyes fell upon a tall figure walking into the room, leaning on a cane.  For a second, I panicked.   _Dorian?!_  What in God’s name upon the Earth was he doing _here_?

“I have come to see the damage for myself,” he replied smoothly, without so much as a raised eyebrow at Jeanette’s appearance, “But if you would prefer I leave…”

She said nothing but scowled at him, crossing her arms.

“To what end, Dorian?” I asked wearily, more than suspicious.

“To help, of course.” He answered.  “Have I heard correctly that you attempted to throw off the chemical solution that did this to you, my dear?”

“Yes.  My sister gave me a bottle of body spray that was in my purse when I was kidnapped.  I thought it could possibly prevent the stuff from  killing me if I threw off the compound.  And a fat lot of good that thinking did me, as you can tell.  It was a snowball’s chance in Hell, anyway.” She replied.

“Perhaps not.” Dorian hummed, tapping his cane against the floor and looking at her thoughtfully.  “The possibility still exists that you could have kept this change from becoming permanent with that action.  Another possibility exists that the condition may not be permanent for you; given that you are a woman and your body is regularly subject to hormonal changes that men won’t experience, you may not have to stay this way.”

“Do you think I _want_ to?” She demanded hotly.

“Dorian, don’t sell us false hopes.” I cut in.  “I have no patience for snake oil on this matter.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He retorted reproachfully.  “I think that I can reverse Jeanette’s condition, given time and hard work.”

My heart leaped in my chest.

“Can you?”

He snorted.  “Would you trust anyone else to be able to do so?”

I narrowed my eyes at the same moment Jeanette said, “I don’t trust you at all.”

“Jeanette, you don’t have to do this,” I said, reaching out to touch her arm, “You can say no.”

I felt Dorian’s gaze flicker onto our contact.  It was irritating, but I forced myself to ignore it.  Jeanette and her decision were more important at the moment.  She turned her eyes upon me, scarlet depths flickering uncertainly.

“How can you even look at me when I’m like this?”

“You’re still you.” I shot back somewhat indignantly.  “A rose by any other name—“

“Would still smell as sweet.” She finished before shaking her head.  I drew in a breath, steadying myself and allowing the words to tumble out of my mouth before my mind completely registered what they were and stopped me.

“Jeanette, listen…whatever you may appear as, you remain yourself, and you are the single most incredible woman I’ve ever had the good fortune to meet.  I do not care what you look like, and you do not have to go along with Dorian’s idea.  But if you do not wish to stay like this, you do not have to.  The decision is yours, and I shall stand behind your decision entirely, whatever it may be.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and slowly cut trails down her white cheeks.  Warmth flooded my face as she gave my hand a squeeze, then turned to look at Dorian.

“I’ll go along with this for now, but like I said, I don’t trust you.  And if I think you’re going to pull something on either of us, I’ll see to it you regret it.  Are we clear?”

He smiled.

“Quite, my dear.”


	30. Merry Hearts

[Jeanette’s POV:]

I woke in a sleepy, dreamy state, feeling quite happy and content.  For the past week or so, I had been sleeping well and waking feeling refreshed and happy.  A glance down at my hands still showed they were bone-white, but that didn’t matter at the moment.  What _did_ matter was the glittering white gold ring on my left ring finger.

Lance had proposed to me a week ago, and we were engaged.

I smiled down at the ring and rested contentedly for a moment.  Lance had truly been more of a blessing than I could ask for in the past three years since Joker had kidnapped me.  It was really only thanks to him that my job at the library hadn’t been completely lost.  He was willing to vouch for everything that had happened to me, and convinced Chantal to allow me to work at night a few days a week so my ghastly appearance wouldn’t frighten everyone away.  And if it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have been able to move out of my apartment.

“But where would you even go?” My mother had asked in shock in that hospital room three years ago.  It had struck me at the time as funny that she was worried about my wish to move to a safer, less-well-known location, considering she called and left messages so often out of concern where the townhouse apartment was located.  Still, my heart had warmed at the thought; since I had started to patch things up with Michelle, I didn’t feel so cold towards Mom anymore either.

“I have a place,” Lance spoke up suddenly, and when Michelle had looked ready to make a perverted comment, he had quickly amended, “That is to say; the Pendragon family owns more than one home.  There’s a large house in a little secluded cul-de-sac neighborhood that is technically meant to be for my younger sister, but I doubt she would mind if you stayed there, at least for a little while.”

“Thank you.” I had murmured then, feeling my heart give a small flutter.

My heart fluttered again with giddy joy as I looked at the ring, and a knock came on the door to my room.  I glanced up, used to this by now.

“Come in.” I called.  The door creaked open and Gerard Montaine entered, doing his best to look extremely professional.  He always did, perhaps a little too well.  He drew himself up proudly and importantly, not looking me in the eye.  Initially I had assumed it was because of my appearance, but time had taught me that when Gerard was on the job, he rarely looked anyone except Lance in the eyes.  And he was _always_ on the job.

“Do you care to have some breakfast brought up, Miss Harker?” he asked.

“Breakfast would be lovely, Gerard.  Thank you.  Is there anything particular on today’s menu?” I asked, offering him a patient smile.  This time he did look at me, slender blonde eyebrows raising just a fraction.

“I have prepared some fruit parfaits.”

“That sounds delicious.”

He smiled back at me, just slightly, and I knew a layer of Hell had just frozen over.  As he left the room to get my breakfast, I glanced out the window to my left, still lost in my thoughts.  I had stayed in the house in the cul-de-sac up until a handful of nights ago.  Between our engagement and Lance’s sister Guen deciding she needed some space of her own for a while, we came to the conclusion to move me to Pendragon manor.  I didn’t mind the move at all; for one thing, I was there all the time, so I practically already lived there.  Apart from that, the manor had more than enough guest rooms, and heavens knew _somebody_ needed to tend to the private Pendragon home library.  Not to mention, the place stayed rather lively.  Rook was over so often enough he had permanently claimed one of the guest rooms, and Eva had started coming over at least once or twice every week.  A few times already Killer Croc had accompanied her, and even once his “boys” had come along as well.  Sam and Freddie offered me their condolences and even Vic had been able to squeeze out a somewhat heartfelt apology.

Then there was Tygrus, of course.  Upon hearing about my condition from Dorian, he had come to Gotham to act as a bodyguard of sorts for me whenever Lance was busy.  I had already started to suspect Lance himself was the dark wolf I had seen prowling around at night before, but kept the thought to myself once Tygrus began shadowing me.  And with my moving into the manor home, his task became all the easier, for he lived on the manor grounds under Lance’s insistence.

Watching out the window, I thought I caught a glimpse of him, leaping between the trees.  Another dark shape flitted after the first and I grinned.

“You two are definitely engaging in a proper courtship, aren’t you?” I murmured out loud.  Much to everyone’s surprise, shortly following my last encounter with the Joker three years ago, Tygrus had found himself a girlfriend.  She was a young reptile woman called Adrian, with distinct Gila monster traits.  She was skittish and distrusting, and it was turning out to be a long and harrowing process of trying to befriend her, but she hung around and stayed close to the man-cat, who was utterly besotted with her.  As I watched, Gerard re-entered the room carrying a small tray, and I could have sworn I heard him chuckle.  Then again, it could have just been my overactive imagination.

“Are they out there chasing one another again?” He asked, and without waiting for me to answer, he added disapprovingly, “Twitter pated!”

I refrained from making a comment.  He was one to talk!  Lance had set him up with a young cop a few weeks ago, and Gerard’s stoic demeanor had loosened up, just marginally.  It was roughly the difference between a grumpy tiger and a grumpy panther.

Without warning, I started to giggle at my own thought.  Laughter rose up from somewhere deep in my chest and erupted before I could stop myself.

“Miss Harker?” Gerard asked, startled.  “Are you alright?”

I quickly regained my composure and felt the laughter die away.  This wasn’t the first time this had happened in the past three years, and dealing with it had gotten easier, but I still frightened people around me when I laughed.

“I’m fine, Gerard.  My apologies.”

Still he watched me uncertainly, and for that I could not blame him.  I laughed at strange things or sometimes nothing at all since my…accident.  I always tried to hold it in, but my therapist said not laughing was unhealthy.

That was another thing Lance had helped with.  After police questioning, Detectives Yin and Tankinson had recommended I seek therapy for my obvious trauma, and Lance was more than happy to pay for private counseling sessions with Doctor Mona Sullivan.  In many ways, her therapy had been helpful; we had discovered that I had panic attack triggers, such as clowns, comedy movies, and even using the bus or any form of public transportation.  Avoiding these triggers helped to prevent my condition from worsening, but Mona had also insisted that I loosen up just a little and allow myself to start laughing again.

_Doesn’t she understand that when I laugh, it rarely sounds natural anymore?  Doesn’t she realize that now, when I laugh around anyone, they see what has happened to me and fear that I am slowly becoming more like the Joker?_ I often wondered.

“Well,” Gerard’s voice interrupted my wandering thoughts, “Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything further, Miss Harker.”

He set the tray on the nightstand next to my bed and exited.  I ate the parfait with wavering enthusiasm, and afterward, I merely stayed in bed and resumed reading the book I had picked up and started yesterday.

I always lose track of time when I get into what I’m reading; it is a fault that plagues many avid readers.  So it came as no surprise when I heard a knock at the door and glanced at the clock to find it was nearly time for lunch.  More likely than not, Gerard was back.

“Come in!” I spoke up.  The door creaked open, just a fraction, and someone looked in.  But it wasn’t Gerard; it was Lance.  My heart sped up with love, joy, and warm affection as I looked at him and smiled.

He didn’t smile back.

“Uh-oh,” I murmured, suddenly remembering he had said he would make a trip out to the island early this morning, and knowing what could make him look so upset, “What did Dorian do this time, love?”

He pushed the door completely open and stepped inside, and I couldn’t suppress a gasp.

Asleep in each of his arms were two little brunette children with fair skin and lovely features.  Children with large, wolfish ears and bushy little bottlebrush tails.  And as I stared, another little brunette head popped out from behind Lance, adjusting the grip his tiny little arms had on Lance’s neck.

“What’s a love, Mommy?” He squeaked.

I reeled at the little boy’s words.

_Mommy??  MOMMY?!_

I looked to Lance for explanation, and he heaved a sigh.  The little boy and girl in his arms each fluttered their eyes sleepily before falling back asleep.

“They’re an engagement and wedding gift,” he said in a tight voice, “From Dorian.”

“What’s a love?” The boy repeated, ears twitching.  Trying to swallow this information was impossible.  Dorian was giving us _children_?

“I-I-I thought you went to Dorian’s island t-to see how the progress was coming along o-on his cure for me.” I stammered.  Dorian had already been able to reverse the color of my eyes back to normal, but that had taken a year and a half on its own, and he still hadn’t completed a way to return pigments to my skin or my hair.  Lance had gone to the island to see how Dorian’s work was supposed to be coming along.

“I did,” he confirmed, walking over to the edge of the bed and sitting down, adjusting the sleeping children in his arms, and the lively little boy who was awake let go of Lance’s neck to bounce on the bed, “And he gave me these three.  He is under the impression that we shall never have children on our own, and said something to the effect that he is unsure how your body would handle pregnancy in this state, _if_ you could get pregnant at all.”

Air let my lungs and my stomach clenched as though I had just been assaulted.

_What?_

Tears began to form in my eyes as I looked down and watched the hyper little werewolf boy, rolling around and wrapping himself in the thick blankets in delight.

“Dorian thinks we wouldn’t be able to have children?”

“Not without help,” he replied bitterly, “I should have known from the start he would do something like this.  We shouldn’t have allowed him to run tests on you or take DNA samples directly.”

I didn’t know what to say.  I just watched as the little werewolf poked his head out of the blankets and beamed up at me.

“Jeanette,” Lance continued, his voice tense, “They’re ours.”

“What?” I asked, stunned.

“They’re ours.  Our DNA.  They’re _our_ children.”

“Dorian takes playing God too far.  Does he honestly think we would just be okay with this?  He had no right!”

“I know, but they’re still ours.  All three of them.”

“I’m a triplet!” The little boy announced proudly.  My glare fell away as I turned to look at him.  Furious though I felt that Dorian would _dare_ do something like this after what I had been through, the little boy was not at fault.  He didn’t know what we were talking about, and he had no malicious intent.  It wasn’t _his_ fault that Dorian was playing God.

“What’s your name?” I asked him, and he stared up at me with eyes the same shade of green as Lance’s.

“I don’t know,” he answered, completely nonplussed and innocent, “What _is_ my name?”

I looked to Lance, whose face fell sadly.

“We’re to name them.” He explained.  “Test tubes and genetic engineering aside, they _are_ ours.  Dorian insisted.”

_I’m sure he did,_ I thought, irritated.

“Can I have a name, Mommy?” The tiny werewolf said excitedly, smiling at me in unbridled joy.  In that moment, something in me melted a little, and my heart softened.

“You’re certainly a merry little fellow, aren’t you?” I said with a weak chuckle, trying to indulge him.  No sooner had the words left my mouth than something clicked in my head.  “Yes…yes, I think you’re Merry.”

“He’s a boy.” Lance protested.

“No, not M-A-R-Y,” I answered, “M-E-R-R-Y.”

“You’re naming our youngest son for a hobbit?”

“Not a hobbit,” I shook my head, “And certainly not the name Meriadoc.”

“What’s a hobbit, Daddy?” Merry asked him.

“Well, not you, for one thing,” I answered, pulling him onto my lap and ruffling his hair, making him giggle, “You’re much too cute to be a hobbit.  And for another thing, you need a better name.”

“But I like Merry.” He said in slight disappointment.

“No, no, you misunderstand.  We’ll still call you Merry, for short.  It can be your nickname.  Your full first name will be…ah—“ It took me a moment of thought, but I suddenly remembered Lance’s tendency to slip into Shakespearean dialogue when upset, and inspiration hit me, “Your full first name shall be Mercutio.  Merry for short.”

He grinned, eyes twinkling and tail wagging.

_He really is adorably sweet…_

“Thank you, Mommy!” He said, bouncing a little and hugging me.  I nearly cried.

“Mercutio?” Lance said, as though testing the sound of the name.  “Well, it’s better than Meriadoc by far.  But I hope the other two don’t need Shakespearean names to match.”

“They don’t have to; there is plenty of other good literature in the world to draw upon for any inspiration we need.”

He gave me a flat look.

“Oh, joy,” he said in a faintly sarcastic voice, though his smile gave him away, “Aunt Eva and Uncle Robert are going to have _so_ much fun with that.”

I couldn’t help it; in spite of everything, I began laughing again.  And this time, I felt and sounded more like myself than I had in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking back over this entire fic, I feel like it took me way too long to finish it for how short and choppy and messy it got. Nonetheless, I'm proud I accomplished it. Proud enough this will in fact, be getting a proper sequel. Hopefully a better written one, at that.


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